You’re sitting on the barstool next to Ronda and the fool.
Both are getting drunker than the man on the moon.
And the isolation kicks in till you’re locked up in your room.
Where to go, where to gone, where to die.
And your shirt is stained with incense dripping down between your toes.
Beneath the floor the liquids slipping to where nobody knows.
But the drinks just keep on pouring in the pockets of your clothes.
Where to go, where to gone, where goodbye.

And you feel the record turning
While the waitresses start burning
Into the floorboards or your eyelids,
To a place nobody knows.
Your temperature is busy rising
And you’re having trouble crying
Out about the things you have to say,
About what nobody knows.

Your body’s run away and now your nothing but your eyes.
Catching raindrops in your eyelids, tears for someone who can’t cry.
But will these tears still serve you when it’s you who has to die?
Where to go, where to gone, where oh my.
These lifeless souls all float around in their velvet parade.
You’re drinking whisky swaying slowly in the stillness of the shade.
You can’t muster up the courage to be the one who was saved.
Where to go, where to gone, where to hide.