i got a little black book with my poems in.
got a bag, got a toothbrush and a comb.
when i'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone.
i got elastic bands keeping my shoes on.
got those swollen hands blus.
got thirteen channels of shit on the tv to choose from.
i 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 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 my mortal remains.
i've got wild, staring eyes.
and i got a strong urge to fly.
but i got nowhere to fly to… fly to… fly to… fly to.
ooooo babe,
when i pick up the phone,
there's still nobody home.
i got a pair of gohill boots,
and i got fading roots.
