Is all that we've becomenJust nothing but hats and bagsnWe're waiting for taxi cabsnSo you light cigarettesnAnd I'm taking dragsnnIn the air, a sea of words,nThat didn't come soon enoughnIn my mind a railway stationnAnd a ticket stubnnAnd it is Easter in the townnI can hear as they strike up the bandnWe're listening to some old mannSay he came back to life with a hole in his handnnAnd now the Sunday school is gatherednTogether in pink and in bluenThey're heralding angels for younBut not for mennThey're singingnGloria in ExcelsisnDeo, deonnGloria in ExcelsisnBut there's no,nThere's no hopennAnd I am grateful for the thingsnThat you've tried to show to me dearnBut there's no Arcadia,nNo Albi, and there?s no Jerusalem herennAnd underneath your pastures greennThere's earth and there?s ashnAnd there's bonenAnd there are things that disappearnInto it and then they are gonennAnd there is light that hits the skynAnd then it is midnight againnAnd there is my mother, my father,nAnd you and we are all impermanentnnAnd on the green they tell their talesnAbout how even the dead can come backnI just don't believe in thatnnSo you can keep on singingnGloria in ExcelsisnDeo, deonnGloria in ExcelsisnBut there's no,nThere's no hopennThere's no such thingnThere's no such thingnThere's no such thingnThere's no such thingnThere's no such thingnThere's no such thingnThere's no such thingnThere's no such thing as ghosts