| Awnings and ice and dirty green
|
| Newspapers, shovels, sand on the breeze
|
| I think of Eliot when I smell the street
|
| And it’s sometimes wise
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| Just to shut your eyes
|
| Workers and lovers make their living space neat
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| Bent out of shape over what to eat
|
| I dream of Eliot but I am discreet
|
| 'Cause it’s sometimes wise
|
| Just to shut your eyes
|
| How sure, how right
|
| Can anyone be on sight?
|
| I said I had hope
|
| I lied
|
| Oh, the city in the winter, the sewage the steam
|
| You fill buildings with people and they rip at the seams
|
| And somebody’s suffering infected my dreams and
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| Don’t they, don’t they know?
|
| It’s just my old soul
|
| How sure, how right
|
| Can anyone be on sight?
|
| I said I had hope
|
| I lied
|
| So calm so wise
|
| Give him the Nobel Prize
|
| He said he had hope
|
| He lied
|
| O. oooo. |
| wuho ho ho |