See the high-wire man, there before the sun
He goes home at night, where he beats on his son
The playwright in the attic, in his skylight of sun
Has a cigarette on his lip
And the sun beats down, on the smart smart flesh
It comes down from high, on its heavenly stead
Suggesting redemption, will be easily possessed
For less than a pound of flesh
And it’s terribly important, to every man of estate
To settle the score, write the record straight
So he may free his slaves, where on the deathbed he lays
Such sweet and knowing flesh
Knowing in the end, you’ll be alone
For lonely death does creep
So hire yourself, a chimney maid
And smoke yourself to sleep
Among the mannequin men, all dressed and adorned
My manic depressive true love she leaves me forlorn
The rooster crows, at daybreak the pawn
Has a cigarette on his lip
Saying, “Pretty girls go and take your time
For Lord only knows how you have taken mine
I’ve chased them clear through the ends of time
To hold the smart smart flesh”
Knowing in the end, you’ll be alone
For lonely death does creep
So hire yourself, a chimney maid
And smoke yourself to sleep
Now the hateful playwright, each time that he dies
Must visit the judge in a new disguise
Saying, “Judge in your robes, oh judge so wise
There’s something on your lip”
And the man of estate, each time he dies
Must clear the black pages that tarnish the mind
In a bible and a bath, of formaldehyde
He soaks the smart smart flesh
Saying in the end, you’ll be alone
For lonely death does creep
So hire yourself, a chimney maid
And smoke yourself to sleep
Now the unknowing tumor, is fixing its home
In the damp bed of the catacomb
As the raging war, on the high wire unfolds
She buries her teeth in the flesh
Now the world’s a machine, do you know that it’s true?
For the soul hovers idly just outside the room
It loves itself wildly, but what can it do
A cigarette on its lip