Ballrooms of Mars

You gonna look fine,
Be primed for dancing.
You're gonna trip and glide
Along the trembling plane.

Your diamond hands
Will be stacked with roses
And wind and cars
And people of the past

I'll call you thing
Just when the moon sings
And place your face in stone
Upon the hills of stars.

And gripped in the arms
Of the changeless madman,
We'll dance our lives away
In the ballrooms of mars

You talk about day,
I'm talking 'bout night time.
When monsters call out
The names of men

Bob Dylan knows
And I bet Alan Freed did:
There are things in night
That better not to behold

You dance
With your lizard leather boots on
And pull the strings
That change the faces of men.

You diamond-browed hag,
You're a gutter-gaunt gangster.
John Lennon knows your name
And I've seen his.