I've got a cobalt friend now he spends his time
looking for people to feed him lines.
feeling up his head then reaching for mine
i ask him how he's doing and he says "just fine".
he calls it learning, but we know that he's dying.
that seems to be the price when you're walking on ice
it ain't so nice, but it helps to pass the time.
you got to hang on, you got to hang on, you got to hang on
before you fall, hey, before you fall.
At social functions of the marching band
he takes his routine up on the stand,
and trying to get the lay of the land
you know he sings and dances in the burning sand
until someone puts a microphone in his hand.
and then he will say as he slowly backs away
"another day perhaps you'll understand.
you got to hang on, you got to hang on, you got to hang on
before you fall, before you fall."
With maps and charts now he plots the skies
surrounds himself with mystic eyes
dwells on deeds of other lives,
sings secret chants and lullabies
then he'll come to sit and hypothesize
again and again about the shape that he's in.
well now he's my friend but i know that they're mostly sighs
you got to hang on, you got to hang on, you got to hang on
before you fall, before you fall.
And running behind the hit parade
he yells out songs that others have made
unable to see his own masquerade
you know he waves his sword with the gilt edge blade
and i'd love to send him to travelers' aid
for when he hears the sound of the stuff he's putting down
he might drown in his own cascade.
you got to hang on, you got to hang on, you got to hang on
before you fall, before you fall,
before you fall, fall, fall, before you fall,
you got to hang on, sloopy, hang on,
hang on before you fall, all right.