You got real fancy instincts But your mouth is so large I think I see a hundred people in it I guess you like it that way Because you're a flop And there ain't no more wringer washers To roll your fingers through I see your insides aren't the same since 1951 You're dying inside a window I saw your face all cut with gla** And underneath the window The hands you dug your grave with You could have built an empire He would have helped you now you know You're going to fetch the wind On a unicorn Feet all dangling down Wish them well at the marketplace I fear a fiery face Is staring from the future It's not the way They told me I was a fool Well it's your friend and mine And ??? The sky is black in a blue night The winter is true or so it may seem Carnival tricks in the corners The floor is made of tracks That follow your footsteps