Day after day,
High up on the hill,
The man with the nervous smirk
Sees morons wishing him ill;
But none of them really know him:
They just want to think he's a fool,
And they never hear his answers,

'Cause the "fool" on the hill
Sees all Hell coming down:
It'll be on their heads
When the ship runs aground!

Hell on the way;
A fiery shroud;
Lake of the wailing voices,
Shrieking endlessly loud;
And still they refuse to hear him,
'Cause the glass-teated drugs they take
Are filling their heads with madness,

And the "fool" on the hill
Sees them all going down
To the Land of the Dead
In a huge burning cloud!

For they really want to strike him;
They all hate him because they're fools.
Their ending has no appealing,

'Cause the "fool" on the hill
Sees the sun's going down,
And the hands on the clock
Making their final round...

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!
Down, and down, and down, and down...

He never listens to them;
He knows that they're the fools:
They all hate him!

The "fool" on the hill
Sees the sun's going down,
And the hands on the clock
Making their final round...

Oh,
Down, and down, and down, and down...
Oh...