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I phoned you up from Dallas
But your heart was still in marble
And your head
Was reckoning
Your friends are dis-compos-mentis
And like most in leather jackets are
Coveting
Reckoning, reckoning
And you're sleeping with some hippie half-wit
Who thinks, he's Mr. Mark Smith
Reckoning
Beckoning, reckoning, reckoning
I'm left alone in Europe
Consulting an atlas
Wandering
Wandering
And it's evil that you spark off
In disguise as basic truth
Listening
Listening, listening
Reckoning
Reckoning
Reckoning
Beckoning
Reckoning
Beckoning
Reckoning
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