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Strange Days lyrics
There s a room inside my finger
Where ghosts of authors linger
There s a little man that whispers
In a radio transmitter
There s a lady on a spider
With a baby s head beside her
There s a voice inside my earlobe
From a place the sidewalks don t go

These are strange days!

There s a man with an umbrella
Who is smoking citronella
And he sees fantastic visions
Of a world outside my prison
There s a fountain full of ashes
And a snake beneath the grasses
And he s asking everybody
What makes them melancholy

These are strange days!

My language is patois
Philosophy is in my boudoir
My head s in Constantinople
And my body s in a bubble
I m a Rosicrucian Lackey
In the ministry of Peculiar Things
I will tell you my secret
But only if you keep it

These are strange days

But enough about me, why don t you tell me about your day?
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