NOBODY HOME
I've got a little black book with my poems in.
I've got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb.
When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in.
I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on.
Got those swollen hands blues.
Got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from.
I got electric light and I got second sight.
Got amazing powers of observation.
And that is how I know.
When I try to get through, on the telephone to you, there'll be nobody
home.
I got the obligatory Hendrix perm.
And the inevitable pinhole burns, all down the front of my favorite satin
shirt.
I got nicotine stains on my fingers.
I got a silver spoon on a chain.
Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.
I've got wild, staring eyes.
And I got a strong urge to fly.
But I got nowhere to fly to.. fly to... fly to... fly to...
Oooh Babe, when I pick up the phone, there's still nobody home.
I
got a pair of Gohills boots and I've got fading roots.
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