Your silver child Suspended in space Crying out to you Beckons you To yet another fine place Where the trials of life are few Who says your comin’ on Don’t think your livin’ wrong They won’t remember you The rent is always due The cloudy men Who take their place And stand in line they do Know not of The satin face That separates them from you Just put your bluejeans on Grab your guitar and write a song Don’t think I’m kidding you The rent is always due She rides a broom With gold-plated straw And flutters around and dies The Brylcreem fools Just stand in awe Digesting all her lies But then you walk along And she starts comin' on Beneath her melting broom The rent is always due