Lyrics:

On demand, dum da di da
Of the statue deity, dum da di da
The young poet and a mirror linked
To the hallway of aqueous phantasms
Four doors, dum da di da
All locked for lunacy, dum da di da
The poet squint his eye through the keyhole
One more time for the death of the Mexican

One more time for the shadows on the walls
One more time for the tinkling-bell child
Spinning by the bed of the unmanly
One more time the gun to his head

One more time, dum da di da
For the assassination, dum da di da
The spinning hallucinatory imagery
By the aerialist by the bed of the epicene
One more time, the master’s choice
The gun put to his laurel crown
We are born with a wound, born with a wound
Wound of separation
Close the gap

On demand, dum da di da
Of the master, dum da di da
The poet plashes through the mirror
To the hallway of aqueous phantasms
One more time, the master’s choice
The gun put to his filthy wreath
We are born with a wound, born with a wound
Wound of separation
Close the gap