Everybody's living in the brave new earth
Prisoners of the small worlds that orbit in our skulls
Native sons of a no-man's land
Friends and lovers in the cold, cold ground
Every now and then I seem to dream these dreams
Where the mute ones speak and the deaf ones sing
Touching that miraculous circumstance
Where the blind ones see and the dry bones dance
Everyone surrenders to the brave new scarecrows
And waits for them to hand us cigarettes and blindfolds