They said it was a holiday; but you know they lied.

They said they were in mourning. All those tears were held inside.

There’s no chance that they will like me and less chance I will care.

They say they are all humanists; but they’ll carve you like a pear.

I’ll be rolling in the thunder and the sun will break at dawn.

I’ll be wishing you were naked in your thoughts with nothing on.

I’ll peddle dreams and honesty and I will break the curse.

And you are green with envy; and no feeling will be worse.

You will know that there’s a meter but you won’t pay the price.

I’ve been hanging with Saint Peter. He’s gone silent on advice.

All credit cards are bloated and the baby needs new shoes 

And all spirits are logged and noted; and Saint Peter’s got the blues.

He’s all wrapped up in the rapture; and and he wants to say goodbye.

I know I’m going to to miss him; but they’ll be no tears to cry.

All the credit cards are bloated and the baby needs new shoes.

All the spirits logged and noted and Saint Peter’s got the blues.