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Fell down from your haven. |
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To an empire cityscape. |
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Someone asked him for directions. |
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He would always know the way. |
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Offer you his raincoat. |
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Let you hide under his hat. |
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If you can't walk from whiskey. |
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He'll just throw you on his back. |
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And then away you'll go. |
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Through the crowd gathered below. |
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To the spinning wheels. |
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Of your mobile home. |
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And he'll watch you sleep. |
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Like a guardian angel. |
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Stays inside the music. |
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Sometimes steps outside the law. |
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Always in the name of justice. |
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Still believes in the lost cause. |
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Distract you with a story. |
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Always tries to make you laugh. |
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He brings people together. |
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Like Gertrude |
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Stein and |
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Mama Cass. |
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And he says, "My friends are yours,This town's full of open doorsTo the sold-out shows,Eighth bungalows,And the lonesome smokes,In this tiny studio." |
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Always finds a muse. |
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Everywhere he goes. |
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Whether it's the blues. |
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Or some abandoned showtune. |
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Learned how to be selfless, |
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How to love what wasn't there, |
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But never dwell upon it. |
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Just embrace what's everywhere. |
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People busking in the subway. |
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Mc's freestyle in the park. |
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Heard a kid from martha's vineyard, |
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Made him turn around his car. |
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And away he goes |
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To the local radio |
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Saying, "What's that sound?I'd like to know,And this might sound strange,But I just can't let it go." |
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Guess every sinner needs a saint. |
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Guess every sinner needs a saint. |
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Guess every sinner needs a saint. |
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Says everybody is the same. |
