From the album SUMMER BREEZE (1972)

He gets up every morning and he lights upon the floor
He migrates to the washroom and he opens up the door
The whiskers on his chin tells him he's in, and then
Through the paste and the soap, sees an image without hope
He's a broom of a fellow, an oddity in parenthesis
So infected with disease of yellow dirt down in his soul

He usually spends his spare time counting hairs upon his arm
The ants upon the cupboard to his thinking add their charm
He never starts to notice that his shoes are full of lead
He's dead, through cough. Labored breathing, he is seething
He's a sandwich of a fellow, an all-spread personality
So infected with disease of yellow dirt down in his soul

Last night a thousand stars were his to mold like clay, and so
In one split second's anger he did reach and take a hold
He saw himself a captain way off in some kissin' situation
That would have made his father proud, he laughs out loud
He conceals the hurt. He reveals the dirt

The yellow dirt down in his soul
The yellow dirt down in his soul
The yellow dirt down in his soul
The yellow dirt down in his soul