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He was selling postcards from a paper stand |
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A whiskey bottle in his withered hand |
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He put a finger on a photo from an old magazine |
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And saw himself in the shadow of his dream |
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They found him with his head inside a tin-pot crown |
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Told him his feet stank and took him downtown |
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Called him agitator, spy and thief |
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Shut him up in solitary third degree |
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Take a long line, reel him in |
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He tried to appeal to the king of might |
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He said "I'm just excercising my sacred right" |
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The king he said "You ain't got no rights |
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You're a madman, a traitor, get outta my sight" |
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Take along line, reel him in |
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They put him aboard a well wound whirlwind |
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Pulled out his teeth and rold him to grin |
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He gave them a smile, pulled out a bottle of wine |
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And said "I never existed, you've been wasting your time" |
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Take a long line, reel him in |
