They're calling out moutains to sing
Our favorite song of kings and queens
Flourescent sight, birds lapse in flight
Saluting tone, noise floating foam
Vermillion skies, clouds made of tea
We ride upon their harmony

Every cape and hood, gold suits the mood
His lips grew wings, hands reach for green
Mansions full of wigs, hiding in her figs
Milk and honey please, softly proceed
Oh, little sphinx thats what you get
It's just the jinx of a dead brunette

Let's wrap ourselves with silver threads
And lay ourselves in golden beds
Let's eat the powder in the bread
And soon again well be undead
There's pointy caps all here and there
Figs are like cakes plucked from woven lairs