The window's on the Atlantis,
The agua's in the sink,
The foreman and the admiral,
Are too tired to drink,
Our home is in the ashes,
The aqua and the pink,
The embers never burned me,
Like I wanted you to think.
The highways of Astoria,
Are of the Seventh Sphere,
I'm glad I got to pick that spot,
Before you dropped me here,
When you said come to Brighton,
I dreamed you were alone,
But there you stood beside him,
With and ice cream and a son.
I'm tethered in the forest,
Of the canyon to the tree,
And I'm bound to be a broken man,
Before I am released.
The window's on Atlantis,
The sun is on the hills,
The marigolds and arrows,
In the pears and wipperwhills,
Arriving from Toledo,
In care of Angeline,
Are solid bricks of Pyrite,
From The fifty hammer line.
And she said it will come for me,
And yes, I guess it might,
But if you let them catch you
Then you have to name the price.
And if the gate is locked for good,
And if the lake is drained,
I'll either die in Stockholm,
Or I walk home in the rain.

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