Hats off to the shiny fellows
Handsomely sniffing and shooting until they turn yellow
The faceless now stand silently posed
The doors of perception are now closed
Like the thin white ghost of stardust past
A blank generation with a heart of glass
We ride on white swans underground
This charming man rides on waves of sound
Pictures of dandy highwaymen on the walls
As the bell tower bats fall
The music is dead
The muse is dead
Hats off to the clever fellows
The moon over Pisces, personality crises dissolve
The faceless now stand silently posed
The doors of perception are now closed
The muse is dead
Like the thin white ghost of stardust past
A blank generation with a heart of glass
Who knew that this would never last?
Said the thin white ghost of Warhol’s past
We ride on white swans underground
This charming man rides on waves of sound
Pictures of dandy highwaymen on the walls
As the bell tower bats fall