| Billy Druids face is marble | |
| He keeps veery thought in its place | |
| He lets the days turn tomorrow | |
| Someone's always walking | |
| on his grave | |
| He wears the lines just like Garbo | |
| And talks at a saturmine pace | |
| Listening to the strange notes marvel | |
| Only giving what it takes | |
| It's a sad man's world | |
| And for Billy it's sure to crown | |
| Dragging beauty into darkness | |
| Inflciting a pale white frown | |
| And the matter the runs | |
| Through Billy's head | |
| Is too concerned to fall |
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