Well, the
mist angora like a velvet sportscoat
and me left here without a dime
I climbed to the top of a wall of flowers
Spaced like a star-traveler out in time
Haze like juice spilled slowly formless
Scent of citrus 'round my ears
Sound of sand disbarking hourglass
Coins roll down my face like tears
Gath'ring up the nameless fortune
Sorting shorting 'lectric lights
flowers buzz as bugs detain me
Aiming for that dead-black night.
Now I turn and face the nameless
Shamelessly I crouch to leap
Face the city built of seashells
Now prepared at last to sleep.
Words by Gary Mankin Music by Bruce
Kushnick
© 1976, Mankin & Kushnick
