Hey, hey, lazy J., wasting away another day. Your world is ending anyway, so waste, waste, waste away.
Time is a lie you love to tell, so accurate, if unsaved by the bell. Salvation Armies, blessed souls, oblivious for whom it tolls.
The dead aren’t buried, nor burned to ash. The dead are here whenever you ask. The bells they’re ringing don’t disappear. Donate or not, they’re always clear.
Your bright blue eyes have both turned grey, Elysian Fields, an extended stay. London called to even say there’s life on Mars with room to play.