Standing on the shoulders of the morning
You can see the moon
That lonely sickle scrapes the sky
And it's rising on the widow's peak
Of the afternoon
And it's a long way home
Ashtrays are graveyards for the cigarettes you smoke
Second-hand spirits rise from the filter
Headed for heaven but they
Stop at the ceiling
And into the walls they soak
And it's a long way home
I caught you looking at yourself
Who could blame you?
I was looking at you to
Baby, all the things you are afraid of
Are not afraid of you
