Death Dance of Omipapas and Sons for You

I want to dance so I don't have to think anymore

about the steam cleaned caterpillar in the pinafore

I want to dance till the meanings of words are replaced

by the snobbish foppish dandies with discriminating taste

taking lady's place and bouncing her face

up the escalator to inspect the fay new blonde

I want to dance to the voice of the phantom oboe

performing sprightly melodies of a rococo

I want to dance to the rhythm of owls

in a plumb who have fashioned tiny instruments

plucked with their thumbs

no feeling is more safe

then when you embrace me dancing

we don't need to call any of our friends

because I don't even care who else is there

if dancing is your legs laughing,

choking is your throat heckling,

cement grapes are falling (falling falling)

ah but the limp nymphs are calling me to dance

I'm so sick and tired of always feeling down

yeah just sitting around yeah wasting my life

I want to dance I want to dance I want to dance