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