They call it paradise
.. purple leaves
The sound of silver flutes
The jam of honey bees
Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies
Of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
And there's no religion
And rabbits rub your feet
My baby is eating flowers
That kill of all diseases
Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies
Of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Those elevator clouds
And bugs that braid your hair
This often golden place
That is supposedly somewhere
Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies
Of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
Lie, lie, lies of the living dead