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The downstairs girls have alot to sayabout the uptown boys that always get their wayThere's a loner on the corner and a stoner on the borderA schizo who's two faces eyes show lots of empty spacesNext to a workingman, who does intendto make a stand in front of his dead end..If anyone has got the nerve to try him..The local columnist writes his wordhe's flying the flag of all he calls absurdand the body politic, of the town, is working thru a panicto elect a clown..And the never ever boy endeavours on a clever ployhis motive like a locomotive, he'll go till there's nothing else for tolivethe tracks he's on end.. and he has got to walk..It's just an idea that i'm tryin to say..There's more than black and white that make up gray..Nothin' won't move that's not in my way..Can't you hear that train, cause it's comin'It's a loud one..This morning i poked myself in the eyeit wasn't the only reason i had to cry..Someone i know is quite misleading, she doesn't go where she's leadingHer present's no longer her past, she's still always first class..Others i know, are all too clearin making it well known that they've got nothing to fearExcept their boss, because, he can fire them..The unqualified beggars' lifes gone up in smokenow he finds it hard, to take a joke..To the burning of fires and a squeeling of tiresa cutting of wires in a circle of liarsThe law stretches far, to reach it's markand there's nowhere you can hide when it's after darkand you're paranoid, you can never be alone..It's just an idea that i'm tryin' to saythere's more than black and white that make up grayThere's nothin' won't move that's not in my waycan't you hear that train, cause it's comin',it's a loud one..A poet's been down, but now he's on the riseon forbidden thoughts he will theorizeOn a paradise lost, an exaggerated costA well shined gloss, and a summer frostFlying like rockets thru writings in redare the ghosts of great spirits, both alive and deadStanding on the corner where the bricks are piled highand the first floor windows touch the sky..and looking up, there is nothing left to say..sallysally@usa.net
The downstairs girls have alot to sayabout the uptown boys that always get their wayThere's a loner on the corner and a stoner on the borderA schizo who's two faces eyes show lots of empty spacesNext to a workingman, who does intendto make a stand in front of his dead end..If anyone has got the nerve to try him..The local columnist writes his wordhe's flying the flag of all he calls absurdand the body politic, of the town, is working thru a panicto elect a clown..And the never ever boy endeavours on a clever ployhis motive like a locomotive, he'll go till there's nothing else for tolivethe tracks he's on end.. and he has got to walk..It's just an idea that i'm tryin to say..There's more than black and white that make up gray..Nothin' won't move that's not in my way..Can't you hear that train, cause it's comin'It's a loud one..This morning i poked myself in the eyeit wasn't the only reason i had to cry..Someone i know is quite misleading, she doesn't go where she's leadingHer present's no longer her past, she's still always first class..Others i know, are all too clearin making it well known that they've got nothing to fearExcept their boss, because, he can fire them..The unqualified beggars' lifes gone up in smokenow he finds it hard, to take a joke..To the burning of fires and a squeeling of tiresa cutting of wires in a circle of liarsThe law stretches far, to reach it's markand there's nowhere you can hide when it's after darkand you're paranoid, you can never be alone..It's just an idea that i'm tryin' to saythere's more than black and white that make up grayThere's nothin' won't move that's not in my waycan't you hear that train, cause it's comin',it's a loud one..A poet's been down, but now he's on the riseon forbidden thoughts he will theorizeOn a paradise lost, an exaggerated costA well shined gloss, and a summer frostFlying like rockets thru writings in redare the ghosts of great spirits, both alive and deadStanding on the corner where the bricks are piled highand the first floor windows touch the sky..and looking up, there is nothing left to say..sallysally@usa.net