I saw the statue of Herman Brood It had a lump way down in it's throat That's because it's heart was broke in two
He played piano really fuckin' good West Berlin to West Hollywood Prettier than Brando, he was punker than punk Slave to rock and roll and a slave to junk
Ah, Angels come to comfort you Yeah they do And here they come They'll lead you by the hand They'll take you down the hall And they will break your fall
He was no saint but he was Dutch So he could paint, yeah, he had the touch He felt the angels kiss him on the head Whispering the name that rhymes with "dead"
Now the Hilton Hotel in Amsterdam Good enough for John and Yoko, man Now you got the key to 902