Oh God of Hell
I said I love the suit
That the devil gave me
To wear to Beirut
Where the whores are dancing
On the table tops
And the juke box plays
Apocalyptic bebop

Well I love Paris
I love the dizzy streets
Where the flowers of sin
Bloom in the heat
If I were a ghost
I’d be pleased
Living among these
French mysteries

But the place to go’s
Another latitude
Where Jesus is wearing
His blue suede shoes
And the pink neon lights
Up the thoroughfares
Between what is
And what’s not there
You know the place
It’s not too far away
Let’s take a trip
To the Home of the Brave
Forget about London
Forget about Spain
Get out of New York
Take the Train to the Plane
Hong Kong smells like dying fish
And Berlin still stinks of Auschwitz
I wanna go where the wild things play
I wanna go to the Home of the Brave

Somebody meet me at the airport
At about half past ten
Tell Jose, Nikita and all the boys
Down in the bunker
Marc Campbell is coming home again