In this room
In this room you'll find where silence sits
Quiet and removed, the hiss of the red hot coals
Listen to the birds tune the telephone poles
On this street
On this street, you've found where reality lives
Board it up, lock it up like it don't exist
Put a bit between its teeth, no it won't be missed
And let it choke on its bile, let it choke on its spit

In this bed
In this bed is where we lay our sick
Everybody knows
That we're shaped beneath the devil's walking stick
Well if you're looking for rest
You ain't gonna find it
It's probably happiness, there, shoot up your fix
But the tightrope walker, oh, the tightrope walker
He twirls his baton hand
Shoots his [?] across the set
And says "Oh, I'll be back again. "
Oh, I'll be back again

In his head
In his head you'll find where the four hands tick
The seconds and the minutes, the desire and the trick
Bend together both the sticks till the fire gets lit
The plans will do a dance as the jokers do a jig
Now I'm looking round the room
Wondering what's wrong with this shit

And the tightrope walker
Oh, the tightrope walker
And the tightrope walker
I am the tightrope walker