| When its straight up the dial
|
| Everything is fluttered with a glow
|
| He crosses his thumbs and flaps the rest
|
| But nothing is casted anywhere
|
| Not looking for sympathy
|
| Just need some tenderness
|
| When the weather gets overgrown
|
| And everyone’s left town
|
| There’s no one else around
|
| Little prisms come fallin' down
|
| Gathering in the gutters and the grooves
|
| His splashes driftin' by
|
| Sees his face in the pavement sky
|
| No sign of him in there
|
| Not looking for tenderness
|
| Just need some sympathy
|
| When the weather gets overgrown
|
| And everyone’s left town
|
| There’s no one else around
|
| He turns up corners
|
| That you can pawn
|
| But stare awhile
|
| You’ll see
|
| His soul has gone |