Fast times at, high times in; listen
and hear my beloved city sing.
Hypnotized {by/our} gods,
The world's so pretty;
So alive, so young,
Mistaken, witty.

Am I mortal?
"Yes I am".
In fast cars our mock prayers
scathe a God that suffers from vertigo.
High places and gravity low enough
to touch those dark stars.

"All that talk of greatness.
Light coming off my sails...
What a joke." What a dream!
Something to fall asleep to

Fast times, high times
and my beloved city.
A bottle in my hand and
the lights are so pretty.