Lazy flies all hovering above    The magistrate    He puts on his gloves    And he looks to the clouds    All pink and disheveled    There must be some blueprint    Some creed of the devil    Inscribed in our minds       A hideous game    Vanishes in the air    The vanity of slaves    Who wants to be there    To sweep the debris    To harness dead horses    To ride in the sun    A life of confessions    Written in the dust       Out in the mangroves    The mynah birds cry    In the shadows of sulphur    The trawlers drift by    They're chewing dried meat    In a house of disrepute    The dust of opiates    And syphilis patients    On brochure vacations       Fear has a glare    That traps you like searchlights    The puritans stare    Their souls are fluoresecent    The skin of a robot    Vibrates with pleasure    Matrons and gigolos    Carouse in the parlor    Their hand-grenade eyes    Invalid and blind       A hideous game    Vanishes in the air    The vanity of slaves    Who wants to be there    To sweep the debris    To harness dead horses    To ride in the sun    A life of confessions    Written in the dust