Through the rain and all the clatter
Under the Fremont bridge I saw a pigeon fly
Fly in fear from the raptor come to take its life
And as it closed in for the capture
I funneled the fear through my ancient eyes
To see in flight, what I know are the bitter mechanics of life
Under my hat it reads "The lines are all imagined"
A fact of life I know, to hide it from my little girls
I know my place amongst the bugs and all the animals
And it's from these ordinary people
You were longing to be free
In my hotel and on the TV
A preacher on a stage like a buzzard cries
Out a warning of phony sorrow, he's trying to get a rise
The cyanide of an almond
Let him look at your hands, get the angles right
Ace of spades, Port Of Morrow, life is death is life
I saw a photograph of Cologne in '27
And then a postcard after the bombs in '45
Must've been a world of evil clowns that let it happen
But now I recognize, dear listeners
That you were there and so was I
Under my hat I know the lines are all imagined
A fact of life, I must impress on my little girls
I know my place amongst the creatures in the pageant
And there are flowers in the garbage
And a skull under your curls
