When he was fifteen the issue was perfectly clear. (Heaven's so boring!) Nothing to do all day but float around. Maybe you get to blow your trumpet a little -- but very quietly. (They don't allow jazz!) [Chorus] In heaven, it's always partly cloudy. Mile after mile of puffy white vapor... a permanent draft chilling your wingtips. The whole time, you never know when that (Deep Voice!) is going to bellow for you to do something. (And you have to be good!) [Chorus] In heaven, it's always partly cloudy. Mile after mile of puffy white vapor... a permanent draft chilling your wingtips. [Instrumental interlude] Now all the really cool people are in hell. Hell's noisy, exciting and warm-- like a permanent tropical holiday. You can drink and gamble (and have sex with women!) Everyone he knew and admired he was sure would end up in hell. And to tell you the truth he never could see what all the fuss was about.
