You're still the child

Suspended in space

Crying out to you

Beckons you to yet another fine place

Where the trials of life are few

Who says you are coming on

Don't think you're living long

They won't remember you

The rent is always due.

The cloudy men

Who take their place

And stand in line

They do

Know not of

The satin face

That separates them from you

Just put your blue jeans on

Grab your guitar and write a song

Don't think I'm kidding you

The rent is always due.

She rides a broom

With gold-plated straw

And flutters around

And dies

The Brylcream fools

Just standing on

Digesting all their lives

But then you walk along

And she starts coming on

Beneath her melting broom

The rent is always due.