Lyrics

[Verse 1] Three o' three, the seconds they are sequins And the minute string, raveled 'round the mannequin Of formless space, a party line at last that we can All embrace – and segue to the burning masses! [Chorus] Ten to eleven, don't question, just get in I think that we are losing a way Westie… You cannot drum! [Verse 2] Half past noon, visualize a centaur baying At the moon, his profile is a silver circle Brings to mind the portraits on the coinages and Lincoln's beard, and why's he got a horse's body? [Chorus 2] (Griffin, a cruiser) You'll love her, you'll lose her I think that we are losing our way Westie... You cannot drum! [Verse 3] Five-nineteen deluded like a Dixie-Crat I don't ya Clog latrine, and clean it like a Dixie-Crat And deck the halls with spirulina [Chorus 3] Dry route to Devon So great, like Heaven I think that we are losing a way Westie... You cannot drum! No, Westie... You cannot drum!