I'd Rather Be High by David Bowie (original lyrics)

Nabokov is sun-licked now / Upon the beach at Grunewald
Brilliant and naked just / The way that authors look
Clare and Lady Manners drink / Until the other cows go home
Gossip till their lips are bleeding / Politics and all

I’d rather be high / I’d rather be flying
I’d rather be dead / Or out of my head
Than training these guns on those men in the sand
I’d rather be high

The Thames was black, the tower dark
I flew to Cairo, find my regiment / City’s full of generals
And generals full of shit / I stumble to the graveyard and I
Lay down by my parents, whisper
Just remember duckies / Everybody gets got

I’d rather be high / I’d rather.../..in the sand / I’d rather be high

I’m seventeen my looks can prove it
I’m so afraid that I will lose it
I’d rather smoke and phone my ex
Be pleading for some teenage sex, / Yeah

I’d rather be high/...on the men in the sand / I’d rather be high