Empires crumble in the distance

Violet crumble [Brian: it's a kind of chocolate bar] in my bowl

Conspiracy Theory, Timothy Leary

None of this is good for my soul

Salamander extravaganza

What if I sing like Mario Lanza ?



Anyway in my own way

I don't make sense any more

It's so hard to fake

One lucky break

Cocaine and cake



Young Master Morris had a closet in the forest

But where were the bears when he let down his hair

Pieces of ice dragging over the windscreen

Look out Wonderland we're bursting through the black screen



Anyway in my own way

I don't make sense any more

It's so hard to fake

One lucky break

Cocaine and cake



(....inaudible mutterings...)



Millions of consumers are lost in the rumours

Overhead the weather (.....) along their leathers

Fighting real fires with the rabbis and the friars

The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker



(...more inaudible mutterings...)



You know that all of them are users

None of them are takers

Making Sunday music with their tom-toms and their shakers



Anyway in my own way

I don't make sense any more

It's so hard to fake

One lucky break

Champagne and cake



(..........)



Anyway in my own way

I don't make sense any more