Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, back in that hole

Larry made his nest up in the autumn branches

Built from nothing but high hopes and thin air

Collected up some baby blasted mothers

They 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 a dog eat dog world

But he went to San Francisco

Spent a year in outer space

With a sweet little San Franciscan 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, Lazarus

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, back in that hole

(I want you to dig

I want you to dig)

Yeah, 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 Ms Boo and Ms Quick

He stockpiled weapons and took pot shots 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

I don't know what it is, but there's definitely something going on upstairs

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, back in that hole

(I want you to dig

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 increasing neurotic and obscene

I mean: He, he never asked to be raised up from the tomb

I mean no one ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams

Anyway, to cut a long story short

Fame finally found him

Mirrors became his torturers

Cameras snapped him at every chance

The women all went back to their homes

And their husbands

Secret smiles in the corners of their mouths

He ended up, like so many of them do, back in the streets of New York City

In a soup queue

A dope fiend

A slave

Then prison

Then the mad house

Then the grave

Oh 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, Lazarus

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, Lazarus

Dig yourself, back in that hole

(I want you to dig

I want you to dig

I want you to dig)