Are we still on the 'phone

With the Lady Anna Clarke

And her trumpet solo

Whose ghost sings for pay

In the blue billiard room of the Monterey

For room and for board

And the backdoor key is a

19th Century civil war sword

Once owned by John Booth

Who misplaced his script

When he caught his leather boot

And this could be the shining hour

Based on all this mad belief

In the money oil and angel powder

In the new age magazine

There's a hole in the wall

Behind the photograph of Al Capone

He's a sittin' down at city hall

The police they peek thru here

And they watch you get dressed

In the two-way mirror

But it's all in good spirits

And if you close your eyes

You can't help

Help

But to hear 'em move

And this could be the shining hour

Based on all this mad belief

In the money oil and angel powder

In the new age magazine

I propose a toast

To the memory of the horse

who carried King Tut

And his gold

Into the sun

He collapsed last summer

From the heat stroke

Somewhere in the East Village

Oh it kills me to think

That I'm no longer living

Just looking for excuses to drink

So lift up your glass

And you Ouija board

'Cause I'm fading, fading

Fading fast

And this could be the shining hour

Based on all those mad beliefs

In the money oil and angel powder

In the new age magazine