They're calling out moutains to sing

Our favorite song of kings and queens

Flourescent sight, birds lapse in flight

Saluting tone, noise floating foam

Vermillion skies, clouds made of tea

We ride upon their harmony

Every cape and hood, gold suits the mood

His lips grew wings, hands reach for green

Mansions full of wigs, hiding in her figs

Milk and honey please, softly proceed

Oh, little sphinx thats what you get

It's just the jinx of a dead brunette

Let's wrap ourselves with silver threads

And lay ourselves in golden beds

Let's eat the powder in the bread

And soon again well be undead

There's pointy caps all here and there

Figs are like cakes plucked from woven lairs