Lyrics Busking Vagabond - Daniel Kahn, Vanya Zhuk

Busking Vagabond

This busking vagabond
Is standing on the corner
Trumpet on his tongue
He’s only passing through
You’re not the one he loves
This God-forsaken hoarder
Wake up and smell the brew
And hold me close to you
He’s got a room downtown
Some fleabag by the station
A pillow and a bed
A window with no view
How heavily he sighs
In steamy perspiration
His melody is blue
But I, my love, love you
He trumpets out a hymn
As if to blow a gasket!
He trumpets out a cough
He trumpets out his spew
His fate is plain to see
Collected in his basket
But he does not love you
And I, my love, I do
I know in better days
I’ll wear a whiter collar
And like some golden leaf
I’ll circle through the blue
But isn’t it a shame
To weigh the world in dollars?
Oh, would that it would do
To value only you
But you won’t be seduced
With money, or with dresses
This busking vagabond
And every tune he blew
Is worthier to you
Than all the world possesses
For fate, by fate, is fate
And all that fate can do