Nobody Home

I've got a little black book with my poems in

Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in

When I'm a good dog

They sometimes throw me a bone in

I got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on

Got those swollen hand blues

I got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from

I've got electric light

And I've got second sight

I 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've got the obligatory Hendrix perm and the inevitable pinhole burns

All down the front of my favorite satin shirt

I've got nicotine stains on my fingers, I've got a silver spoon on a chain

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

Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone

There is still nobody home

I've got a pair of Gohills boots and I got fading roots