In the Opium Den

His face was cracked like candle wax
His smile was thin like wire
His pocket watch ever in his hand
His attention quick to tire

Dance, dance

And the falcon birds of winter are
Screaming in the trees
And rain it breaks and beats like chains
On window glass like grease

Dance, dance

From a panel in the study wall
Behind the candelabra
He removed a small cigar box
Within a miniature orchestra

Dance, dance