things are getting out of hand
a bebadged clown went downtown
to lock up the peachtree band

swinging chandelier lights flicker
fire on the lawn - or is it dawn?
the percussionist's pace picks up, quicker

and someone dosed the fiddler

strobe light shadows rocking, crying
a Cajun falls down and crawls
slithers up your leg to call, "stop trying!"

but there is no hand upon trigger
no foretold beast, no of these least
the diplomats, they will not cease to bicker

and someone dosed the fiddler

ghosts dance in smoke as shots start flying
our Great Lady tall wavers, falls
clings onto her isle and calls, "i'm dying!"

the vile king's bunker chandelier flickers
fire on his lawn foretells of dawn
above we sing a new song, and he's sickened

and someone dosed the fiddler