All the leaves have turned to leather, I have lost faith in the spring
Withered like a dark balloon, oh, I hear no robin sing
Ushered with the shower still, oh, the rain falls off the leaves
And a rim of shady light it forms the patterns on my hands
I can see your ring, is it camouflaged or etched?
Tell the king, to me this errand sent
To call such a whore in the kingdom of the Lord
That we are afraid where there is no fear
Oh, he fell into a slumber and did not wake until the dawn
To see a band of orange clouds cross the middle of the sky
Oh, he got into a fluster, he felt a tightening in his leg
With such finesse he waived a hornet from a wine glass
And your tiny fluffs of the feathered life
And you wander forth with your insolence and wine
To your fruitless mourn, to them that cannot hear
And what the fuck am I doing here?
In the ghettos of Chicago, amid the poverty and despair
Inside the game hens were the giblets in a plastic bag
A cocktail which consisted of his gin and her vermouth
Garnished together with the pearl onions
Dying eyes, gleamed forth their ashy light
And your tiny fluffs of the feathered life
And you wander forth with your insolence and wine
To your fruitless mourn, to them that cannot hear
