Bobby Pickett Follow

Surreal Thing
The Golden Idol
Well, they've made a Golden Idol of the girl you used to be
Hangin' bangles on your branches like a lonely Christmas tree.
Yeah, they've dressed you fit for killin' in your thrillin' new disguise
Nailin' artificial spangles to the diamonds in your eyes
In that golden coach that turns into a bed,
You better make it, gal, before you wake up dead.

'Cause they'll paint your burning beauty with a coat of shiny lies
And they'll blind you with their wine so you won't even realize
'Til you watch the face you're washing disappearing down the drain
And you're staring in your mirror going privately insane
And that golden crown they've pushed down on your head
You better make it, gal, before you wake up dead.

Look around them golden sidewalks that you're walking on today
And you'll see that lonely gutter just a careless step away
And that altar that they're building you don't even understand
'Cause you're dazzled by the flashing of the daggers in their hands.

You'll be dancing in the darkness when their music disappears
And the jangle of your chains will be the only sound you hear
'Til your broken body's bleeding on an altar made of stone
And you've sacrificed your soul to please a world that's sick and wrong
And you never heard a single word I said.
Aww, make it, gal, before you wake up dead.

Surreal Thing
The Golden Idol