Bottoms Up, Socrates

VERSE
They came marchin down the street in robes
In the spirit of Spanish Inquisition
Guitars and trombones
Mechanical monkeys make good musicians

Streets urchins, the smugglers and dingos
Dead languages and living man lingos
Put the relics of the saint in a glass box and march him around the block

PRE-CHORUS
Hangin on the words of a madman
Islands in the abyss
No use for the poet
When the hopeless seek no bliss

VERSE 2
Mason jars of petroleum
You know those kids don't play
And should you ever get ahold of them
I'll tell you exactly what they say:
"Time we told you son about the family curse"
And when they opened up the diary
To gain an explanation
They find only terminal verse

PRE-CHORUS
Hangin on the words of a madman
Islands in the abyss
No use for the poet

When the hopeless seek no bliss

CHORUS
X-ray visions
Eye in the sky
The naked being led by the blind
So Bottoms up, Socrates
Hemloc straight up
Goes down easy

PRE-CHORUS
Hangin on the words of a madman
Islands in the abyss
No use for the poet
When the hopeless seek no bliss

Altered CHORUS
X-ray visions
Eye in the sky
The naked being led by the blind
So Bottoms up, Socrates
Hemlock tastes like ripple wine

CHORUS
X-ray visions
Eye in the sky
The naked being led by the blind
So Bottoms up, Socrates
Hemlock straight up
Goes down easy