The Shining Hour

Are we still on the phone
With the lady Anna Clarke and her trumpet solo?
Whose ghost sings for pay
In the blue billiard room of the Monterey

For room and for board
And the backdoor key is a 19th century Civil War sword
Once owned by John Booth
Who misplaced his script when he caught his leather boot

This could be the shining hour
Based on all those mad beliefs
In the money, oil and angel powder
In the new age magazine

There's a hole in the wall
Behind the photograph of Al Capone, he's a sittin' down at city hall
The police, they peek thru here
And they watch you get dressed in the two-way mirror
But it's all in good spirits
And if you close your eyes, you can't help, help but to hear 'em move

This could be the shining hour
Based on all those mad beliefs
In the money, oil and angel powder
In the new age magazine

I propose a toast
To the memory of the horse who carried King Tut and his gold
Into the sun
He collapsed last summer from the heat stroke somewhere in the East Village, oh

It kills me to think
That I'm no longer living, just looking for excuses to drink
So lift up your glass
And your Ouija board 'cause I'm fading, fading, fading fast

This could be the shining hour
Based on all those mad beliefs
In the money, oil and angel powder
In the new age magazine