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Late in the night As the dancing mists roll across the moonlit land I sit alone, just Thought, dreams, Bowie's voice, and me. "...Toll the bells..." The radio is my friend I shake my head at this absurdity Leave the room and building And let the mists envelope me "...Pay the private eye..." His voice echoes throughout the mists Transporting me to another world Of castles and kings, dragons and faerie A place where all dreams come true "...All's well..." Then the morning sun breaks through Burning the enchanted mists away The visions fade, taking the fantastical But Bowie's voice remains "...Twentieth century dies..."
