Lies of the Living Dead

They call it paradise
 . purple leaves
 The sound of silver flutes
 The jam of honey bees
 Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies
 Of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 And there's no religion,
 And rabbits rub your feet
 My baby is eating flowers,
 That kill of all diseases
 Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies
 Of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Those elevator clouds
 And bugs that braid your hair,
 This often golden place,
 That is supposedly somewhere
 Oh I am getting so sick of the lies, the lies, the lies
 Of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead
 Lie, lie, lies of the living dead