And the opium farmers sell dreams to obscure fraternities
On the horizon the curtains are closing
Down in the orchard, the aunties and uncles play their games
(Like it seems they always have done)
In the blue distance, the vertical offices bear their names
(Like it seems they always have done)
Clocks ticking slowly, dividing the day up.
These poor girls are such fun,
They know what God gave them their fingers for
(to make percussion over solos) [typing percussion]
China, my China, I've wandered around and you're still here
(Which I guess you should be proud of)
Your walls have enclosed you,
Have kept you at home for thousands of years
(But there's something I should tell you)
All the young boys, they are dressing like sailors.
I remember a man who
Jumped out from a window over the bay
(There was hardly a raised eyebrow)
The coroner told me,
This kind of thing happens every day.
You see, from the Pagoda, the world is so tiny.
