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 the bone in I got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on Got those swollen hand blues I got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from I've got electric light And I've got second sight I 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 Now all down the front of my favorite satin shirt I've got nicotine stains on my fingers, I've got a silver spoon on a chain Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains I've got wild staring eyes And I've got a strong urge to fly, but I got nowhere to fly to Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone there is still nobody home I've got a pair of Gohills boots and I got fading roots