Empires crumble in the distance Violet crumble in my bowl Conspiracy theory, Timothy Leary None of this is good for my soul Salamander extravaganza What if I sing like Mario Lanza? Anyway, in my own way I don't make sense any more It's so hard to fake One lucky break Champagne and cake Young Master Morris has a closet in the forest But where were the bears when he let down his hair Pieces of ice dragging over the windscreen Look out Wonderland we're bursting through the black screen Anyway, in my own way I don't make sense any more It's so hard to fake One lucky break Cocaine and cake Millions of consumers are lost in the rumors Overhead the weather sparked lava on their leathers Fighting real fires with the rabbis and the friars The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker You know that all of them are users None of them are takers Making Sunday music with their tom-toms and their shakers Anyway in my own way I don't make sense any more It's so hard to fake One lucky break Champagne and cake Anyway in my own way I don't make sense any more