You're a silver child, suspended in space Crying out, crying out, crying out, crying out,
crying out to you Beckons you to yet another fine place where the trials of life are few
Who says you're coming on? Don't think you're living wrong, they won't remember you, the rent is always due
The cloudy men who take their place and stand in line, they do
No, not all, the satin face that separates them from you
Just put your blue jeans on, grab your guitar and write a song, don't think I'm kidding you, the rent is always due
She rides a broom with gold plated straw and flutters around and dies
The brill cream fools just standing on, digesting all her lies, but then you walk along and she starts coming on
Beneath her melting broom, the rent is always due
She rides a broom with gold plated straw and flutters around and dies
