The Soft Parade

I am troubled immeasurably by your eyes I am struck by the feather Of your soft reply The sound of glass speaks quick disdain And conceals what your eyes fight to explain When I was back there in seminary school There was a person there Who put forth

And I know It will be An easy ride, all right And I know It will be Easy ride, ok The mask that you wore My fingers would explore Costume of control Excitement soon unfolds And I know It will be Easy ride, yeah Joy, for vaguely Which' your pride Whic

All right Wild child, full of grace Savior of the human race Your cruel face Natural child, terrible child Not your mother's or your father's child You're our child, screamin' wild An ancient lunatic reigns In the trees of the night Ha ha ha ha With