and the cars swinging
lay the bed
for a piece
in my head
I don't have anything
to write with and don't
wanna stir the homeless,
as I see
one's faking sleep, next to me,
I ask'im for a pencil, and he says,
"If I'd a pelwnsl, I'd be on da bus."
('twas still in Chicago, don'cha know)
So I return to the muse,
but th' inspiration's gone .. .. . .
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