The Night You Sang Hal­lelu­jah Haunt­ed by Wolves L. Ron Hub­bard and the Church of Sci­en­tol­o­gy are try­ing to out­law the art of spon­tane­ity and the Bris­tol boys are step­ping out 
and very soon they’ll gloat at the old man with his new head­phones and his mod­el sail­ing boat See the La­dy-​boys of Bangkok cage danc­ing at a show while age­ing hip­pies moralise on Des­o­la­tion Row all these pass­ing scenes they come to me and very soon they go re­placed by friends and mem­o­ries of all the peo­ple that I know Like re­mem­ber the night when you sang Hal­lelu­jah the night when you sang Leonard Co­hen you said you felt re­al­ly pe­cu­liar and you should prob­a­bly get go­ing Oh, I should have stopped you The dark haired boy, his wheelchair jams his moth­er's in a state How can she eat her 5-​a-​day with so much on her plate? And the old men's fight­ing repar­tee is get­ting rather old they came in for a cup of tea and then they stole the show my­self I am just sit­ting here, I'm with a friend of mine we're catch­ing up on six lost years we've seen the tem­ple signs But not the ones where they talk to God of mir­a­cles and crimes It's just the one where they al­ways pray that the train gets in on time And then I'm drift­ing off again back to the might have been some­times I find it hard to chose be­tween my life and dreams I'm just sit­ting here, just get­ting lost caught up in tan­gled schemes But not the ones that I fo­cused on when we were just six­teen the clown girl with her fake bou­quet be­neath the Fer­ris Wheel is talk­ing to a sil­hou­ette who thinks she isn't re­al and the things we do in­side our lives to make us more se­cure are noth­ing to the peo­ple who pre­pare our minds for war