Your silver child
Suspended in space
Crying out
To you
Beckons you
To yet another fine place
Where the trials of life are few

Don't think you're living long
Who says you are coming on
They won't remember you
The rent is always due

The cloudy men
Who take their place
And stand in line
They do
Know not of
The satin face
That separates them from you

Just put your blue jeans on
Grab your guitar and sing a song
Don't think I'm kidding you
The rent is always due

She rides a broom
With gold-plated straw
She flutters around
And she cries
The Brylcream fools
Just standing on
Digesting all their lives

But then you walk along
And she starts coming on
Beneath her melting broom
The rent is always due