With the Lady Anna Clarke
 And her trumpet solo
 Whose ghost sings for pay
 In the blue billiard room of the Monterey
 For room and for board
 And the backdoor key is a
 19th Century civil war sword
 Once owned by John Booth
 Who misplaced his script
 When he caught his leather boot
 And this could be the shining hour
 Based on all this mad belief
 In the money oil and angel powder
 In the new age magazine
 There's a hole in the wall
 Behind the photograph of Al Capone
 He's a sittin' down at city hall
 The police they peek thru here
 And they watch you get dressed
 In the two-way mirror
 But it's all in good spirits
 And if you close your eyes
 You can't help
 Help
 But to hear 'em move
 And this could be the shining hour
 Based on all this mad belief
 In the money oil and angel powder
 In the new age magazine
 I propose a toast
 To the memory of the horse
 who carried King Tut
 And his gold
 Into the sun
 He collapsed last summer
 From the heat stroke
 Somewhere in the East Village
 Oh it kills me to think
 That I'm no longer living
 Just looking for excuses to drink
 So lift up your glass
 And you Ouija board
 'Cause I'm fading, fading
 Fading fast
 And this could be the shining hour
 Based on all those mad beliefs
 In the money oil and angel powder
 In the new age magazine