Nobody Home

I've got a little black book with my poems in.

Got a bag, with a toothbrush and a comb in,

When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.

I got elastic bands keepin my shoes on.

Got those swollen hand blues.

I Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from.

I've got electric light.

And I got second sight.

Got amazing powers of observation.

And that is how I know

When I try to get through

On the telephone to you

There'll be nobody home.

I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm.

And the inevitable pinhole burns

All down the front of my favorite satin shirt.

I got nicotine stains on my fingers.

I got a silver spoon on a chain.

Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.

I got wild staring eyes.

And I got a strong urge to fly.

But I got nowhere to fly to.

Ooooh, Babe when I pick up the phone

I've got a pair of Gohills boots

and I got fading roots.