Sons of the thief, sons of the saint. Who is the child with no complaint. Sons of the great or sons unknown. All were children like your own. The same sweet smiles, the same sad tears.
Anybody seen a knight pass this way. I saw him playing chess with Death yesterday. His crusade was a search for God and they say. It's been a along way to carry on.
Voices from a photograph. Laughed from your wall. Screamed through your dreams. Wake up Rosemary and wipe your teary eyes. . Rise and cross the cold bare floor.
I've come from far from chains, From metal and stone. From makeshift designs, And seeking a star. . To grab for the truth, To keep myself warm. I turn and it's gone gone, You smile and it's born.
Neath the bougie a thimble rigger slyly rolls the pea. Bye the bye the bye the bye. Red is patchy snows the silver. Bye the bye the bye the bye. . Can't turn from a crotch in the darkness.
Over the rooftop sails Billy. A string tied to his underwear. Through cobbled stone streets a child races. And shouts "Billy, come down from there". .
Wasn't it a good year. Wasn't filled with talking. It still moves through my heart. From time to time. City after city. Granite gray as morning. Heroes died in subways left behind.
I've walked way past midnight. I've driven for days. I've tried to forget in so many ways. . I've held other arms. But they don't feel the same. And I've only myself to blame.
I seen a hand, I seen a vision. It was reaching through the clouds, To risk a dream. . A shadow cross the sky. And it crushed into the ground, Just like a beast.
My death is like. A swinging door. A patient girl who knows the score. Whistle for her. And the passing time. . My death waits like. A bible truth. At the funeral of my youth.
Naked as sin, an army towel. Covering my belly. Some of us blush, somehow. Knees turning to jelly. Next, next. . I was still just a kid. There were a hundred like me.
The little clock's stopped ticking now. We're swallowed in the stomached rue. The only sound to tear the night. Comes from the man upstairs. . His bloated belching figure stomps.
As the grossness of spring lolls its head against the window. As the grossness of spring lolls its bloodshot head. Curare! Curare! Curare!. Brogue cries from the street.
It's on days like these. When your brother falls. You can read it all in the Times. How a moving car. Stole a movie star. Little Things that keep us together.
As old Joe sat a dyin'. The baby down the hall was cryin'. Somebody had a party goin' on. The fat boy you told tales to. Moved away the other day. To think with no goodbye.
Joanna. I can't forget the one they call Joanna. We owned the summer, hand in hand Joanna. And now she's always just a tear away. Goodbye you, you long lost summer.
Nose holes caked in black cocaine. Pow! Pow!. No one holds a match to your skin. No dupe. No chiming. A way off miles off. No needle through a glove. Famine is a tall tower.
And if one day I should become. A singer with a Spanish bum. Who sings for women of great virtue. I'd sing to them with a guitar. I borrowed from a coffee bar.
If time were not a moving thing. And I could make it stay. This hour of love we share would always be. . There'd be no coming day. To shine a morning light.
It's raining today. And I'm just about to forget the train window girl. That wonderful day we met. She smiles through the smoke from my cigarette. . It's raining today.