Smoking doobies in a cold windy night on the roof,
Mocking at this haunted world of fake spoofs.
Laughing in sick desperation at the mad butcher's door,
And our echoes drowning forever in that bottomless floor.
This war will last forever young John,
They have remnants of graveyard yet to mourn.
There is place to drink and sleep and dine in,
But in this great hotel of laws we can never sin!
Hey little train wait for this boy with childlike dreams,
In his sleep at night he barely ever screams.
They're all painting a wall in front of our eyes,
To make us believe that the world is full of thin ice!
Old Mama has switched the television off at two in the night,
The psychedelic outburst has blurred all the rest of light.
The ajar doors have turned from seven colours to white,
And that little voice inside your head wakes you up at midnight..