November: Return to Desolation Row

They’re telling tall tales of my lifetime

They’re obscuring the truth with lies

The carpet-bagging whisperer

Has sent out all his spies

Here comes the blind note-taker

He’s writing in a trance

One hand is tied to the Imperial typewriter

The other is in his pants

And me, I’m getting restless

As the heat pipes they just cough

The bank account it empties

And I think I’ve had enough

 

The long dead scout master

Walks the dark sunrise

Still poisoning lost children

While doing up his flies

 

Outside the sky is grey and laden

The trees are turning brown

Hilary, the old bag lady

Is wearing her winter frown

All except for Jo and Lizbeth

And the neighbour without a name

Everybody is making love

Or else expecting rain

And my dreams they are undressing

As the heat pipes they just cough

The bank account it empties

And I think I’ve had enough

 

The long dead scout master

Walks the dark sunrise

Still poisoning lost children

While doing up his flies

 

Across the street they’ve nailed the shutters

You can hear the women scream

Diwali is now over

And the bright lights are all a dream

The Muslim taxi driver

Has booked his last fare home

He’s riding with false confidence

Since the hoodies stole his phone

And I’m left peeking from my window

As the heat pipes they just cough

The bank account it empties

And I think I’ve had enough

 

The long dead scout master

Walks the dark sunrise

Still poisoning lost children

While doing up his flies

 

 

Author: seagullnic

Writer, editor, lecturer and part-time musician. Passions in life: my family, Bob Dylan, music of many genres, Brighton and Hove Albion FC, cooking plus good food and wine.

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