MATTHEW HOPKINS BLUES Air conditioned steel and leather Sitting in the back I look good in black These trees are built for swinging bodies These streets are cold and lonely Like a crypt Stearne steers around the fountain Bubbling red I see the hand of evening Falling on the monuments Your face is lovely like a flower Your body's thin And draped in blue But your bones will snap like twigs Your flesh will burn like paper In the end Stearne steers around the fountain Bubbling red I see hand of evening Falling on your pretty head Air conditioned stone and glass Sweeping through these halls I look good in black These trees are built for swinging bodies These offices are trimmed In gold Those faces carved in stone Mean nothing now You search friends But you've forgotten that you're all alone Those faces carved in stone Mean nothing now Those words you cling to You've forgotten they're my favorite joke Written by Michael Whyte © Man Bites Dog, BMI (Administered by Bug)