Bottoms Up, Socrates

VERSE They came marchin down the street in robes In the spirit of Spanish Inquisition Guitars and trombones Mechanical monkeys make good musicians Streets urchins, the smugglers and dingos Dead languages and living man lingos Put the relics of the saint in a glass box and march him around the block PRE-CHORUS Hangin on the words of a madman Islands in the abyss No use for the poet When the hopeless seek no bliss VERSE 2 Mason jars of petroleum You know those kids don't play And should you ever get ahold of them I'll tell you exactly what they say: "Time we told you son about the family curse" And when they opened up the diary To gain an explanation They find only terminal verse PRE-CHORUS Hangin on the words of a madman Islands in the abyss No use for the poet When the hopeless seek no bliss CHORUS X-ray visions Eye in the sky The naked being led by the blind So Bottoms up, Socrates Hemloc straight up Goes down easy PRE-CHORUS Hangin on the words of a madman Islands in the abyss No use for the poet When the hopeless seek no bliss Altered CHORUS X-ray visions Eye in the sky The naked being led by the blind So Bottoms up, Socrates Hemlock tastes like ripple wine CHORUS X-ray visions Eye in the sky The naked being led by the blind So Bottoms up, Socrates Hemlock straight up Goes down easy