A. Glum Swoboda

He comes and goes just like hands opening doors

And he falls before everything, but he leaves

And he goes by A. Glum Swoboda

Beyond the skyline, a great sapphire lens

Shining down on a framed picture of twins

Only one has gotten away

Guitar in the window that no ghost child ever played

And he's not looking down or around on the long cruise compete

And no more rock groups off the street

Oh no

We come and go, but we must know where to sit

Yellow door, parkade floor, block of squares

An abode for A. Glum Swoboda

Construction worker walking slow in his sandpaper suit

A Jehovah's Witness talking to a hard sale

A cocktail lemonade in his hand

And they're all sleeping too deep to strike up any band

Oh no

Oh no

Oh no