Masters of the bluff and masters of the proposition, but the enemy I see wears a cloak of decency.
We never thought we could ever get old.
You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade, into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way.
If I had wings, no one would ask me: should I fly?
Some are masters of illusions, some are ministers of trade, all under the same delusion, all their beds unmade.