Testo Stranger Than Strange

There are faces in the marbling and on the bark of trees, Heads upon the flower stalks and wild ones on the weeds In the pattern of the wallpaper that's peeling from the wall And voices in the corridoor which echo dow the hall And its stranger than strange, Its stranger than strange. There are features on the Hothouse palms sucking in the air, Something nasty in the Hothouse, its too hot to hear, I Creeping vines are writhing upon my garden wall, Lashing out with tendrils but I evade them all. And its stranger than strange, Its stranger than strange.