Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!

Dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Back in that hole Larry made his nest high up in the autumn branches Built from nothing but high hopes and thin air He collected up some baby blasted mothers who took their chances And for a while they lived quite happily up there He came from New York city man, but he couldn't take the pace He thought it was like dog eat dog world Then he went to San Francisco, spent a year in outer space With a sweet little San Fransiscan girl I can hear my mother wailing and a whole lot of scraping of chairs I don't know what it is but there's definitely something going on upstairs Dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself I want you to dig Back in that hole I want you to dig I want you to dig Yeh, New York City he had to get out of there and San Francisco well I don't know and then to LA where he spent about a day he thought even the pale sky stars were smart enough to keep well away from LA Meanwhile Larry made up names for the ladies Like miss Boo and miss Quick He stockpiled weapons and took potshots in the air He feasted on their lovely bodies like a lunatic And wrapped himself up in their soft yellow hair I can hear chants and incantations and some guy is mentioning me in his prayers Well, I don't know what it is but there's definitely something going on upstairs Dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself I want you to dig Back in that hole I want you to dig I want you to dig Well New York City man, San Francisco, LA, I don't know But Larry grew increasingly neurotic and obscene I mean he, he never asked to be raised from the tomb I mean no one ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams Anyway to cut a long story short, fate finally found him Mirrors became his torturers, cameras snapped him at every chance The women all went back to their homes and their husbands with secret smiles in the corner of their mouthes He ended up like so many of them do, back on the streets of New York City In a soup queue, a dope fiend, a slave, then prison, then the madhouse, then the grave Ah poor Larry But what do we really know of the dead And who actually cares Well, I don't know what it is but there's definitely something going on upstairs Dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself Laz'rus dig yourself I want you to dig Back in that hole Dig yourself