|
No tongue in the bell |
|
And the fishwives yell |
|
But they might as well be mute |
|
So you get to keep the pictures |
|
That don't seem like much |
|
Cold white keys under your fingers |
|
Now you're thinking |
|
"that's no substitute |
|
It just don't do it |
|
Like the song of a warm, warm body |
|
Loving your touch" |
|
In the court they carve your legend |
|
With an apple in its jaw |
|
And the women that you wanted |
|
They get their laughs |
|
Long silk stockings |
|
On the bedposts of refinement |
|
You're too raw |
|
They think you're too raw |
|
It's the judgement of the moon and stars |
|
Your solitary path |
|
Draw yourself a bath |
|
Think what you'd like to have |
|
For supper |
|
Or take a walk |
|
A park |
|
A bridge |
|
A tree |
|
A river |
|
Revoked but not yet cancelled |
|
The gift goes on |
|
In silence |
|
In a bell jar |
|
Still a song ... |
|
You've got to shake your fists at lightning now |
|
You've got to roar like forest fire |
|
You've got to spread your light like blazes |
|
All across the sky |
|
They're going to aim the hoses on you |
|
Show 'em you won't expire |
|
Not till you burn up every passion |
|
Not even when you die |
|
Come on now |
|
You've got to try |
|
If you're feeling contempt |
|
Well then you tell it |
|
If you're tired of the silent night |
|
Jesus, well then you yell it |
|
Condemned to wires and hammers |
|
Strike every chord that you feel |
|
That broken trees |
|
And elephant ivories |
|
Conceal |
