The Philosophers' Stone

I can't keep pace with you

Give you something wild

I can change place with you

Turn you into something



Action comes to him who waits

If he's not gone cold

I can turn you into lead

I can turn you into gold



Read the small print

The Philosophers' Stone but I'm grateful



In the coffin of guitars, there her music lies

Foliage and solos, growing from her eyes

This is England

The philosopher's stoned, but ungrateful



Nazi in a wheelchair

And a cardigan

And a v-necked sweater

He's a sad old Nazi man

He's so friendly!

The Philosophers' Stone but I'm grateful

The Philosophers' Stone but I'm grateful



Bury me in cellophane

Underneath a vault

I can climb back out again

But it's not my fault

I can climb back out again

What can you do?

The Philosophers' Stone but I'm grateful

The Philosophers' Stone but I'm grateful

The Philosophers' Stone but I'm grateful