Blue ship sail me,   Lost in the slipper of the night.   Full steam daily,   Puffing like a fisherman's pipe.      Walking up the main streets   Smiling, seeing things.   Far away a season is zipping up.      Green lights changing,   Cold Appalachian towns.   Dead strings breaking,   A snowstorm is going to come down.      Walking out of clubs, lame   Bound to the earth again.   A parliament of ravens too drunk to fly.      The Massachusetts Turnpike   Puritan, stock and still.   Headed for the heart of the Sunday night!