Your silver child
Suspended in space
Crying out to you
Beckons you to yet another fine place
Where the trials of life are few
Who says you are coming on
Don't think you're livin' wrong
They won't remember you
The rent is always due

The cloudy men
Who take their place
And stand in line
They do
Know not of
The satin face
That separates them from you
Just put your blue jeans on
Grab your guitar and write a song
Don't think I'm kidding you
The rent is always due

She rides a broom
With gold-plated straw
And flutters around
And dies
The brylcream fools
Just standing on
Digesting all her lies
But then you walk along
And she starts coming on
Beneath her melting broom
The rent is always due