An auctioneer is bidding for a box of fading years
 And the elephants are dancing on the graves of squealing mice.
 Anyone for tennis, wouldn't that be nice?

 And the ice creams are all melting on the streets of bloody beer
 While the beggars stain the pavements with flourescent Christmas cheer
 And the Bentley-driving guru is putting up his price.
 Anyone for tennis, wouldn't that be nice?

 And the prophets in the boutiques give out messages of hope
 With jingle bells and fairy tales and blind colliding scopes
 And you can tell they're all the same underneath the pretty lies.
 Anyone for tennis, wouldn't that be nice?

 The yellow Buddhist monk is burning brightly at the zoo
 You can bring a bowl of rice and then a glass of water too
 And fate is setting up the chessboard while death rolls out the dice.
 Anyone for tennis, wouldn't that be nice