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
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