The path to the awful room that one will sleep in again
Was lit for one man only gone where none can follow him
Try to look down the way he'd gone:
Back of a closets whose depths draw and on and on
And nice people said he was with God now
Safe in his arms
But the voices of the angels that he heard on his last days with us
Smoke alarms

Well the path to the palace of wisdom that the mystics walk
Is lined with neuroleptics and electric shocks
Hope daily for healing
Try not to go insane
Dance in a circle with bells on
Try to make it rain

And nice people say he had gone home to God now
Safe in his arms, safe in his arms
But the voices of the angels singing to him on his last hours with us
Smoke alarms, smoke alarms.