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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 Monterrey
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 those mad beliefs
In 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 through here
And they watch you get dressed
In the two-way mirror
But its all in good spirits
And if you close your eyes
Ya cant help
Help
But to hear 'em move

And this could be the shining hour
Based on all those mad beliefs
In 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 a 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 money, oil and angel powder
In the new age magazine

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