The Mystery of sunlight, the lightning in the misty sky,
and the dark spots on my memory, take me far away.
We are talking of a blessed era, long before the days of hate,
before the money of love.
The cave dwelling men from the city of doom, can’t remember their twin towers.
The money in clumps, stuffed in those shirts, are burning holes in those fat belly's.
The blaspheming boys who fight in the street, now have nothing but nothing to say.
The heroes and fools, longhairs and shorts are standing alone and confused.
The re-entry speed of a thousand degrees, ain’t nothing but nothing but babel.
The flames in the sky are like songs to the drums that beat to the rowdy and dead.
Release me now.