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 my windowsill
in this old hotel I chose
Yes, one hand on my suicide,
one hand on the rose
I know you've heard it's over now,
and war must surely come
The cities they are broken at,
and the middlemen are gone
Let me ask you one more time,
oh children of the dust
Those hunters who are shrieking now,
do they speak for us?
Where do all these highways go,
now that we are free?
Why are the armies marching still,
never coming home to me?
Oh, lady, with your legs so fine
Oh, stranger, at your will
You are locked in to your suffering
And your pleasures are to see
The age of lust is giving birth
And both the parents ask the nurse
To tell them fairy tales
On both sides of the glass
Now the infant with his cord
Is howling like a kite
And one eye filled with blueprints
It's what I feel with night
Oh, come with me, my little one
And we will find a farm
And crow has 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
Oh, take me to the slaughterhouse
I will wait there with the lamb
With one hand on a haxaphrine
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 serpent grass
I tried to catch your eye
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