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