Out in the mangroves, the mynah birds cry
In the shadows of sulfur, the trawlers drift by
They're chewing dried meat
A house of disrepute, the dust of opiates
And syphilis patients on brochure vacations

Fear has a glare that traps you like searchlights
The puritans stare their souls are fluorescent
The skin of a robot vibrates with pleasure
Matrons and gigolos carouse in the parlor
Their hand-grenade eyes, invalid and blind

A hideous game vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves, who wants to be there?
To sweep the debris, to harness dead horses
To ride in the sun, a life of confessions
Written in the dust

La la la
La la la
La la la
...