Nobody Home

I've got a little black book with my poems

in I've got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in

When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in

I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on

Got those swollen hand blues.

Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from

I've got electric light And I've got second sight

I've 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 I've got the inevitable pinhole burns

All down the front of my favourite satin shirt

I've got nicotine stains on my fingers

I've got a silver spoon on a chain

I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains

I've got wild staring eyes

I've got a strong urge to fly

But I've got nowhere to fly to

Ooooh Babe when I pick up the phone

There's still nobody home

I've got a pair of Gohills boots

And I've got fading roots.