Song parody of
Lilac Queen
by mewithoutYou
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Comet streams and the rocket scenes
And cyclone-turning seas
Thy foes profanely rage
Hands washed, Pontius-Pilate-clean
In proud Euphrates' stream
Where no one knows my name
I'll be long, long gone
"On the slopes at Courchevel
The news from the Gulf War is relayed
By loudspeakers during the intensive bombardments
All moon-rides, lifts are full
Go search the world beneath
Cladding breach at 3-mile beach
All spent fuel pools are full
"It's all the same to me
I'll be long, long gone"
In such fell repose, you suppose
That mouth will finally close
When you're long long gone?
I was born of a thought of mine
I was the ISIS flag design
You were a Lilac Queen
Paddling through your empire's streams
I was born of a thought of mine
Born of the stillborn heart of mine
You were the Werewolf King
Peddling round your sapphire ring
Soon is the swing of the Hammerhand
Same is the low-flying day of the Vultureman
Circling the earth I go
Slobbering out of my oatmeal wisdom
Nearer the boots to the stolid floor
Or restless thought to the waves of a foreign shore?
Racing the sun, I rose
Hastening lest thy gates be closed
But I find that there is time
Comet streams and the rocket scenes
And cyclone-turning seas
Thy foes profanely rage
Hands washed, Pontius-Pilate-clean
In proud Euphrates' stream
Where no one knows my name
I'll be long, long gone
"On the slopes at Courchevel
The news from the Gulf War is relayed
By loudspeakers during the intensive bombardments
All moon-rides, lifts are full
Go search the world beneath
Cladding breach at 3-mile beach
All spent fuel pools are full
"It's all the same to me
I'll be long, long gone"
In such fell repose, you suppose
That mouth will finally close
When you're long long gone?
I was born of a thought of mine
I was the ISIS flag design
You were a Lilac Queen
Paddling through your empire's streams
I was born of a thought of mine
Born of the stillborn heart of mine
You were the Werewolf King
Peddling round your sapphire ring
Soon is the swing of the Hammerhand
Same is the low-flying day of the Vultureman
Circling the earth I go
Slobbering out of my oatmeal wisdom
Nearer the boots to the stolid floor
Or restless thought to the waves of a foreign shore?
Racing the sun, I rose
Hastening lest thy gates be closed
But I find that there is time
