Hang On To Yourself

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.