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High above a city made of rubber lover
A detective, undercover, is on a mission of urgency
Well, what other reason could it be?
Seems that recently a string of broken ceilings,
Stolen pictures, shady dealings
Have been pinned on our favorite foe
Now we'll see what he's made of
She's a rose in reverse bloom
She's the fateful hand of doom
She's La Madame on the Moon
Playing tunes for you
When the stars chase out the day
And the phantom hours await
She is tuning up to play
Play her tunes for you
Playing tunes for you
A serenade of old familiar gloom
To stick it in the bourgeoisie and screw
None of the bad men disapprove
Who is La Madame on the Moon?
He can spot her through the stormiest of weather
His binoculars are leather
Tailor-made by the chief of staff to weed out La Madame
And he's after her on chimneys and across the tops of bridges
Down the steepest chapel ridges
With a pattern dexterity he will whip out his radar
She's a ladle to your spoon
She's a nuking sonic croon
She's La Madame on the Moon
Playing tunes for you
She's the anarchist of air
Not to say a maiden fair
Never compliment her hair
Playing tunes for you
Her favorite apparatus is the lute
But lately she's been practicing the flute
All concentration on our ruin
Who is La Madame on the Moon?
She could be standing right next to you