You're gonna look fine, be primed for dancingnYou're gonna trip and glide along the trembling plainnYour diamond hands will be stacked with rosesnAnd wind, and cars, and people of the pastnnI'll call you thing, just when the moon singsnAnd place your face in stone upon a hill of starsnAnd gripped in the arms of the changeless madmennWe'll dance our lives away in the ballrooms of MarsnnYou talk about day, I'm talkin' 'bout night timenWhen monsters call out the names of mennBob Dylan knows, and I bet Alan Freed didnThere are things at night that are better not to beholdnnYou dance, with your lizard leather boots onnPull the strings that change the faces of mennYou diamond-browed hag, you, a gutter gaunt gangsternJohn Lennon knows your name, and I've seen hisnnRock!