They're calling out moutains to sing   Our favorite song of kings and queens   Flourescent sight, birds lapse in flight   Saluting tone, noise floating foam   Vermillion skies, clouds made of tea   We ride upon their harmony   Every cape and hood, gold suits the mood   His lips grew wings, hands reach for green   Mansions full of wigs, hiding in her figs   Milk and honey please, softly proceed   Oh little sphinx thats what you get   It's just the jinx of a dead brunette   Let's wrap ourselves with silver threads   And lay ourselves in golden beds   Let's eat the powder in the bread   And soon again well be undead   There's pointy caps all here and there   Figs are like cakes plucked from woven lairs