Another day, rise a Paraguayan Sun,
The Fuhrer cracks open another Heineken.
He's all alone, he's in his little room,
He's all alone, with a Burmese python after him.

He sleeps by day, but not for very long,
He dozes off, that's when the chase is on.
In his dreams for one that knows has sent,
Faceless men with Russian winters.

That sweaty little man
On the Tropic of Capricorn without a tan,
Meanest man this world has seen,
Beat up every night in his dreams.

His friends are gone, they got tracked by hungry hounds,
The rubies gone, that tower's spent all down.
Memories of blazin' piles of books,
Body counts, and how his hands shook.
Tangled vines holdin' the shadow over the world,
Stare down the snakes and see the clouds unfurled.