We can’t dance, we don’t talk much
We just ball and play
But then we move like tigers on vaseline
Well the bitter comes out better on a stolen guitar
You’re the blessed, we’re the Spiders from Mars
Sense made – none. But you know something is sexy and out of this world. We’re blessed by the Spiders From Mars, is what he’s getting at, I think. Which is like the messiah circumspectly admitting he’s the messiah. You can take it in three different flavors, too, depending on what kind of Bowie you’re in the mood for. I like the Hammersmith show myself, for its historical import, and just because he truly looks like a messiah from Mars.