Do you want to be an angel Do you want to be a star Do you want to play some magic on my guitar? Do you want to be a poet Do you want to be my string? You could be anything. Do you want to be the lover of another Undercover? You could even be the man on the moon. Do you want to be the player Do you want to be the string? Let me tell you something It just don’t mean a thing. You see it really doesn’t matter when you’re buried in disguise by the dark glass on your eyes though your flesh has crystalised; Still.... you turn me on. Still.... you turn me on. Still.... you turn me on. Do you want to be the pillow where I lay my head Do you want to be the feathers lying in my bed? Do you want to be a colour cover magazine; create a scene.    Every day a little sadder A little madder Someone get me a ladder. Do you want to be the singer Do you want to be the song? Let me tell you something you just couldn’t be more wrong. You see I really have to tell you that it all gets so intense. From my experience It just doesn’t seem to make sense Still.... you turn me on. Still.... you turn me on. Still.... you turn me on.