The stories of the street are mine The Spanish voices laugh The Cadillacs go creeping down Through the night and the poison gas I lean from mu window sill In this old hotel I chose. Yes, one hand on my suicide And one hand on the rose.
I know you've heard it's over now And war must surely come, The cities they are broke in half And the middle men are gone. But let me ask you one more time O children of the dust, These hunters who are shrieking now Do they speak for us?
And where do all these highways go Now that we are free? Why are the armies marching still That were coming home to me? O lady with your legs so fine O stranger at your wheel You are locked into your suffering And your pleasures are the seal.
The age of lust is giving birth But both the parents ask the nurse To tell them fairy tales on both sides of the glass Now the infant with his cord is hauled in like a kite And one eye filled with blueprints One eye filled with night
O come with me my little one And we will find that farm And grow us grass and apples there To keep all the animals warm And if by chance I wake at night And I ask you who I am O take me to the slaughter house I will wait there with the lamb.
With one hand on a hexagram And one hand on a girl I balance on a wishing well That all men call the world We are so small between the stars So large against the sky And lost among the subway crowds I try to catch your eye.
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