Steel-headed giants roam the land
In overcoats with binoculars
Gun-runners for the gods
On automatic-pilot
Jimmy was a fly
Was nothing if not an actor
Got wrapped in a cocoon
Of skin-tight buffoonery
Now here's the plan, now here's the plan
An artificial body
Extension cords with hands up
A wire and two coffee cans
He was hoisted in that suit, full of fluid
After fifty-seven years of breathing bad oxygen
No stones in the hand
No birds in the bush
He ascended in the hour
Of his lighthouse resurrection
