| Throttling, hurtling — just going, going
|
| And hurting knowing that it’s gone, and it’s going
|
| And not knowing where — in the ground or in the air
|
| Up the golden stair (or whatever) — it’s going
|
| I stopped by the Lake of the Strangled Crane
|
| It was the color of copper
|
| I saw the crane operator
|
| I heard the operator’s father say, «It looks like rain.»
|
| And I had the operation because he said he was a doctor
|
| And I was in pain
|
| «Freedom,» or whatever, whatever you call it
|
| It’s a stairway, or a slow ride
|
| It’s «Rhiannon» or «Landslide»
|
| I hear the bartender died of a broken heart and a shattered pelvis
|
| He was buried in Kansas
|
| It was part of a promotion
|
| They were trying to undermine the confidence of the consumer
|
| I saw a beautiful drummer in the web of a spider
|
| And I wanted to save him
|
| I saw a little boy in serious danger of growing older
|
| And he was trapped sitting shotgun in a Cutlass Cruiser
|
| When I’m on the street, something’s singing in my ear
|
| And I hear a little voice all thumpthumpthumpthump-thumping in my chest
|
| And I feel the hummingbird-fast heart in there whirring like mad
|
| Got a spiriting feeling swimming around my head
|
| And I haven’t even had any cocaine yet
|
| And I don’t even want any though, I bet
|
| It’s like some kind of sentence that passes between us that someone else said
|
| I last saw you, Frankie, walking through that New Hampshire dew
|
| And when you shot five thousand feet up into the grey sky, what could I do?
|
| Now I bet you’re in space
|
| Write me, or whatever
|
| I feel so far away
|
| Like I’m an old typewriter, out on the showroom floor
|
| Like I’m the Last Starfighter and they forgot the war
|
| And they burned my trailer
|
| And they’re on my tail, And I’m out on tour
|
| And I want Frankie
|
| I want Frankie
|
| I want Frankie
|
| I want Frankie
|
| I want Frankie
|
| I want Frankie
|
| I want Frankie
|
| Oh man. |
| All right |