The streets are filled with tooth marks

The dancers legs are tied

Jakob’s in his singing words

“It’s just poetry” replied


The grass is brown and twisted

The statues are all changed

The town is on its corners

But it’s me who stays the same


It’s just Kafka selling oil

He’s got someplace else to be

Someone’s hooked on pins and needles

His lawyer’s in a tree


Josef’s selling property

Mary changed her name

This town is on it’s corners

But it’s me who stays the same


The lady with her watered locks

Spouts wisdom to herself

Against a joker’s megaphone

From his honourable shelf


Hemingway’s retired

His brother laughing in the rain

This town is on it’s corners

But it’s me stays the same


There’s women with everything cut short

Kissing Elvis in his bows

It’s not that there’s a difference

But they can keep you on your toes


Spanish dancers flood the parking lots

Hold back progress with their canes

This town is on its corners

But it’s me who stays the same


My easel has been shattered

The sun hides itself in shame

The wolves and old prime ministers

Have stolen all the blame


Darkness plays a razor’s act

Going back from whence it came

This town is on its corners

But it’s me who stays the same


The streets are lined with paper

And fifty dollar bills

They run from their volcanos

To the warmer side of hills


Kerouac, he must be laughing

Gives his roommate all the blame

This town is on its corners

But it’s me who stays the same


The devil is encircled

By hunger and despair

But vain he calls to me by name

Beneath his fearsome hair


But I am never worried

There is no way to rearrange

The town is burning down

And you were just a flame

 

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