(Further Reflections) In the Room of Percussion

Mountainous pictures of coloured scenes appear upon my face
And the joss stick smoke of sense dissolves, forever in its place
The shadowy friends that line the walls all dream while laying down
While the window tapping silhouette in rain begins to drown

In the room of percussion
The discussion slides as you enter through the door
And the one armed bandit
Laughs aloud and disappears once more

Foolish thoughts of ecstasy are dead but without too much concern
In the heart, my hopes by millions lay twisted as they burn
The crooked faces of clocks appear and die in nightmare dreams
While juggling music surrounds us both and turns our thoughts to screams

In the room of percussion
The discussion slides as you enter through the door
And the one armed bandit
Laughs aloud and disappears once more
My God, the spiders are everywhere!

With ruby wine and our tangled nerves, our mouths flap in despair
And with tumbled words of poetry, we try and prove we care
But the glow-worm light of creativeness moves out into the rain
And the joss stick dies and disappears, its scent alone remains

In the room of percussion
The discussion slides as you enter through the door
And the one armed bandit
Laughs aloud and disappears once more
In the room of percussion
The discussion slides as you enter through the door
And the one armed bandit
Laughs aloud and disappears once more
My God, the spiders are everywhere!