After these processions comes the sweeping up 
The rag and bone possessions, an old tin cup 
The army trucks have hauled away the newly slain 
The angry crowd retreats, but they'll be back again 
And the prisoner in the palace does not understand 
The ingratitude around him 
After all he's done and planned 
But if this is the way that it must be, then he'll be damned 
if he will let them take away his perfect dream 

Ministers stuff bank notes into leather bags 
Their wives have packed the jewelry and the luggage tags 
The word is on the street now growing day by day 
And even the informers know to stay away 
And the prisoner in the palace is confused by this charade 
Feeling strangely unprotected by his miles of golden braid 
And if this is the way that it must be then unafraid 
He will not let them take away his perfect dream 

And these mountains of equipment 
Brought from foreign lands 
Are now stacked up in the desert being buried in the sand 
These rows of helicopters, rusting where they stand 
Are butterflies to take away the perfect dream 

He cried inside the limousine, and at the airport too 
When the soldier knelt before him and kissed his shoe 
He flew across the desert and the open sea 
While they tore down all his statues and his legacy 
And the victor greets the newsmen 
With his strange and stoic style 
They take a hundred thousand pictures 
And none of them a smile 
But this is just the way that is must be now for a while 
He's only come to bring another perfect dream