Squandered chance to jive in the early 80s, rebuilding Beirut out of cardboard
The Czar saw me dance like a vision in white, bedazzled by diamante coat-tails
I can't hear a thing
I can't see anything
I can't smell and I can't sing
I can't hear anything
Upholster the topside in loop-pile berber, vermouth stains still dried in the carpet
Scarring of death, loss and misery, our ship sets it's sail made of cardboard
In swathes we go