Nobody Home
I got a little black book with my poems in
I've got a bag with a toothbrush and comb in
When I'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone
I got elastic bands keeping my shoes on
Got those swollen hands blues
Got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from
I got electric light
And I've got second sight
I've got amazing powers of observation
And that is how I know
When I try to get through
On the telephone to you
There'll be nobody home
I got the obligatory Hendrix perm
And the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favourite satin shirt
I've got nicotine stains on my fingers
I've got a silver spoon on a chain
I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains
I've got wild staring eyes
And I've got a strong urge to fly
But I got nowhere to fly to
Ooooh Babe
When I pick up the phone
There's still nobody home
I've got a pair of Gohill boots
But I got fading roots
