This is the liars' box
Where anyone can speak
Take orders and go
March swiftly
Combustible with pointed hands
And it sees you
Outside of its hawks eye
Droplets from an aircraft
Onto a city of paper
Burning
A gust of lust blew it out
But the arcade is in your shades
Mirrors on 62nd Street
Summons of a glass
To a sad sad heaven
Summons of a glass
To a sad sad heaven
Summons of a glass
To a sad sad heaven
Summons of a glass
To a sad sad heaven