The Last Dictator to the station crept
In tattered clothes he lay down and wept
Shook his fists at all the world and hissed
'Is this it, is this it?
My farewell delegation
These few trees
This station that is no station
That is left, that is mine
I could have saved you all
You gave me so little time'
Well the Angels who'd hung around
And dreamed their dreams
For eternity they'd schemed their schemes
Awoke and said 'Dick, we understand you to the letter
But you could have it like it was before, only better'
'Yes, I'd like that - I'd try again
But will you make them bow and honor my name?'
'Oh yes, by comparison the last time will seem rather tame
We'll set you up in the desert
In a discotheque called Parody, that's French for paradise
Like an immovable spot, rest now you've had a rough trot'
The Last Dictator woke from where he'd been
In a mood that was mean, he related the dream
'I'm in a very bad mood; I had a very bad dream
What do you think these things mean?'
'I dreamed of an Ice Machine
In the dream I dragged the machine
To the remotest ends of the world
From one hot spot to the next
The spots being populated entirely by brown skinned babies
Who while seemingly very young were in fact very old
These beautiful and innocent children
With their knowing eyes and their wild and neurotic dances
DID NOT WANT MY ICE MACHINE'
'Yes, yes' said the Angels
'And were you displeased?'
'I was - they'd best beware, they'd best take care'
Well the Angels who'd hung around and dreamed their dreams
For eternity they'd schemed their schemes
Clapped and said, 'Dick
You are the one - you are'
'Yes I am'
'Yes you are'