Stories of the Street

The stories of the street are mine The Spanish voices laugh The Cadillacs go creeping down Through the night and the poison gas And I lean from my window sill In this old hotel I chose Yes, one hand on my suicide One hand on the rose I know you've heard it's over now And war must surely come The cities, they are broke in half And the middle men are gone But let me ask you one more time Oh, children of the dust All these hunters who are shrieking now Oh, do they speak for us? And where do all these highways go Now that we are free? Why are the armies marching still That were coming home to me? Oh, lady with your legs so fine Oh, stranger at your wheel You are locked into your suffering And your pleasures are the seal The age of lust is giving birth And both the parents ask The nurse to tell them fairy tales On both sides of the glass And now, the infant with his cord Is hauled in like a kite And one eye filled with blueprints One eye filled with night Oh, come with me, my little one We will find that farm And grow us grass and apples there And keep all the animals warm And if by chance I wake at night And I ask you who I am Oh, take me to the slaughter house I will wait there with the lamb With one hand on a hexagram And one hand on a girl I balance on a wishing well That all men call the world We are so small between the stars So large against the sky And lost among the subway crowds I try to catch your eye