They came marchin' down the street in robes In the spirit of the Spanish Inquisition Guitars and trombones Mechanical monkeys make good musicians Streets urchins, the smugglers and dingos Dead languages and living man's lingoes Put the relics of the saint in a glass box And march him around the block Hangin' on the words of a madman Islands in the abyss No use for the poet When the hopeless seek no bliss Mason jars of petroleum You know those kids don't play And should you ever get a hold of them I'll tell you exactly what they'll say Time we told you son about the family curse And when they opened up the diary To gain an explanation They find only terminal verse Hangin' on the words of a madman Islands in the abyss No use for the poet When the hopeless seek no bliss X-ray visions, eye in the sky And the naked being led by the blind So Bottoms up, Socrates Hemlock straight up goes down easy Hangin' on the words of a madman Islands in the abyss No use for the poet When the hopeless seek no bliss X-ray visions, eye in the sky And the naked being led by the blind So Bottoms up, Socrates Hemlock tastes like ripple wine X-ray visions, eye in the sky the naked being led by the blind So Bottoms up, Socrates Hemlock straight up goes down easy
