Massive Illusion

St John got gunned down with a cold '38
 Why don't we pin him to the sky...
 The rarest of the specimens are neatly locked away
 It's all in my collection...
 It's all in my collection...
 You know that bird has flown
 Can you forgive?
 A bird you'll never own
 And your love is a graveyard
 Where the grasses grow low
 And the people that lie here
 Knew just what you know
 Now your shovel's a shot glass and you drink your own toast
 You're living your life as a ghost
 You see, love is a playground
 Where the grasses grow low
 And the people that play here
 Reap just what they sow
 And if your shovel's a shot glass and you drink your own toast
 You're living your life as a ghost, a ghost
 When your will is gone your dreams will erase
 When you're hanging on by your fingernails...
 Bring out your finest wines your holy shrines and let them go
 Freed from the chains of what has remained of a life that you don't want to know
 The bass and the drums will hammer it home with their marching band of the proud
 Celebrate ages, all life stages, seas and the winds and the clouds
 The message's been written from your prison, see what tomorrow will be
 See what tomorrow will be
 Got every reason to believe that all must decide to break free
 Was it a tantrum when you said that all the laughs were on me
 Then I'll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in
 Go marching in...