Wicked Magician
Under the evil insinuations of their leader
This Atlantis race became a nation of such Wicked Magicians
Well "the soul is dead that slumbers"
You said from your shrine of numbers and kites
Rock roll holds all the wonder in the world
As we strut about with blowtorches in flight
Well twas the dawning of the glam rock race
Not in coked out London or Crusing discos in Frisco
We were the mighty race
Such lovely sunbursts we chased
With Gin and tonic and lace
Mascara mohawk heroin waif face
So kisses all around
My darling angel please
Get upon your well-worn bourgoises knees
And make love to the Wicked Magicians of Glam
Want to be slammed?
Want to be slammed?
Want to be slammed?
Into the ocean.......
Into the ocean....
Copyright 2007 Beau Phillips