Empires crumble in the distance
Violet crumble in my bowl
Conspiracy theory, Timothy Leary
None of this is good for my soul

Salamander extravaganza
What if I sing like Mario Lanza?

Anyway, in my own way
I don't make sense any more
It's so hard to fake
One lucky break
Champagne and cake

Young Master Morris has a closet in the forest
But where were the bears when he let down his hair
Pieces of ice dragging over the windscreen
Look out Wonderland we're bursting through the black screen

Anyway, in my own way
I don't make sense any more
It's so hard to fake
One lucky break
Cocaine and cake

Millions of consumers are lost in the rumors
Overhead the weather sparked lava on their leathers
Fighting real fires with the rabbis and the friars
The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker

You know that all of them are users
None of them are takers
Making Sunday music with their tom-toms and their shakers

Anyway in my own way
I don't make sense any more
It's so hard to fake
One lucky break
Champagne and cake

Anyway in my own way
I don't make sense any more