Massive Illusion

St John got gunned down with a cold ‘38

Why don’t we pin him to the sky….

The rarest of the specimens are neatly locked away

It’s all in my collection…

It’s all in my collection…

You know that bird has flown

Can you forgive?

A bird you’ll never own

And your love is a graveyard

Where the grasses grow low

And the people that lie here

Knew what you know

Now your shovel’s a shot glass and you drink your own

toast

You’re living your life as a ghost

You see, love is a playground

Where the grasses grow low

And the people that play here

Reap just what they sow

And if your shovel’s a shot glass and you drink your

own toast

You’re living your life as a ghost, a ghost

When your will is gone your dreams will erase

When you’re hanging on by your fingernails….

Bring out your finest wines your holy shrines and let

them go

Freed from the chains of what has remained a life that

you don’t want to know

The bass and the drums will hammer it home with their

marching band of the proud

Celebrate ages, all life stages, seas and the winds and

the clouds

The message’s been written from your prison, see what

tomorrow will be

See what tomorrow will be

Got every reason to believe that all must decide to

break free

Was it a tantrum when you said that all the laughs were

on me

Then I’ll know my bet will win when the saints go

marching in

Go marching in….