Bowery blues
The story of manMakes me sickInside, outside, I don't know whySomething so conditionalAnd all talkShould hurt me so.I am hurtI am scaredI want to liveI want to dieI don't knowWhere to turnIn the VoidAnd whenTo cutOutFor no Church told meNo Guru holds meNo adviceJust stoneOf New YorkAnd on the cafeteriaWe hearThe saxophoneO dead RubyDied of ShotIn Thirty Two, Sounding like old timesAnd de bombedEmpty decapitatedMurder by the clock
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