STRANGE DAYS

There's a room inside my finger

Where ghosts of authors linger

There's a little man that whispers

In a radio transmitter

There's a lady on a spider

With a baby's head beside her

There's a voice inside my earlobe

From a place the sidewalks don't go[Chorus]

These are strange days!There's a man with an umbrella

Who is smoking citronella

And he sees fantastic visions

Of a world outside my prison

There's a fountain full of ashes

And a snake beneath the grasses

And he's asking everybody

What makes them melancholy[Chorus]My language is patois

Philosophy is in my boudoir

My head's in Constantinople

And my body's in a bubble

I'm a Rosicrucian Lackey

In the ministry of Peculiar Things

I will tell you my secret

But only if you keep it[Chorus]But enough about me, why don't you tell me about your day?

Songwriters

GOOD, MATTHEW/GENN, DAVEPublished by

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