High above a city made of rubber lover A detective, undercover, is on a mission of urgency Well, what other reason could it be? Seems that recently a string of broken ceilings, Stolen pictures, shady dealings Have been pinned on our favorite foe Now we'll see what he's made of She's a rose in reverse bloom She's the fateful hand of doom She's La Madame on the Moon Playing tunes for you When the stars chase out the day And the phantom hours await She is tuning up to play Play her tunes for you Playing tunes for you A serenade of old familiar gloom To stick it in the bourgeoisie and screw None of the bad men disapprove Who is La Madame on the Moon? He can spot her through the stormiest of weather His binoculars are leather Tailor-made by the chief of staff to weed out La Madame And he's after her on chimneys and across the tops ofs Down the steepest chapel ridges With a pattern dexterity he will whip out his radar She's a ladle to your spoon She's a nuking sonic croon She's La Madame on the Moon Playing tunes for you She's the anarchist of air Not to say a maiden fair Never compliment her hair Playing tunes for you Her favorite apparatus is the lute But lately she's been practicing the flute All concentration on our ruin Who is La Madame on the Moon? She could be standing right next to you