Now I rush to the finger of light

I guess I tore my head off

I hope there's something waiting for me

To make my exit pay-off

Taste and smell and touch

Have faded from pollution

As a last resort I chose the stupidest solution

The first thing I did when I got in gate

Was crank up the left-hand dial

I got there first

The track star seemed to take a while

Now I can dance like Nureyev

With these wings on my body

St. Peter complains that it's too loud down in the lobby





And I hear the voice of God

He's brillant on the microphone

And the radio in heaven

Can make a heathen feel at home





All these notes flying out play havoc with my heart

Every word sung is both emotional