| Stumble on to the pavement; |
| they’re strapped tight to bed
|
| They’ve got a fetish for sheep, straitjacket sheets
|
| But I’ve got Randy Newman in my head
|
| This is no corn-fed day, it’s gloomy, blue, and cold
|
| So let the muggings occur, I feel secure
|
| They say that I’m peculiar
|
| But oh I don’t know, I don’t care
|
| I’ll be waiting for you there
|
| Crave this chill, bathe in black
|
| All the ghouls and fiends attack
|
| Knees go weak, and I swoon, underneath the pallid moon
|
| Praise the night, and praise the night
|
| The only time I feel alright
|
| Under the sun gods stare, I wince and blossom hives
|
| Counting the fractions of day, rotting away
|
| As businessmen just drink away their eyes
|
| But when the stars once shy, come bloom and blanket earth
|
| I feel beloved and blessed, quite Byron-esque
|
| The need to just get off my chest that, oh
|
| I don’t know I don’t care
|
| I’ll be waiting for you there
|
| Crave this chill, bathe in black
|
| All the ghouls and fiends attack
|
| Eyes erupt, and I swoon, underneath the pallid moon
|
| Praise the night, and praise the night
|
| The only time I feel alright
|
| I don’t know I don’t care
|
| I’ll be waiting for you there
|
| Crave this chill, bathe in black
|
| All the ghouls and fiends attack
|
| Head combusts, and I swoon, underneath the pallid moon
|
| Praise the night, and praise the night
|
| The only time I feel alright |