Standing on the shoulders of the morning

You can see the moon

That lonely sickle scrapes the sky

And it's rising on the widow's peak

Of the afternoon



And it's a long way home



Ashtrays are graveyards for the cigarettes you smoke

Second-hand spirits rise from the filter

Headed for heaven but they

Stop at the ceiling

And into the walls they soak



And it's a long way home



I caught you looking at yourself

Who could blame you?

I was looking at you to

Baby, all the things you are afraid of

Are not afraid of you



And it's a long way home