Through the rain and all the clatter
Under the Fremont bridge I saw a pigeon fly
Fly in fear from the raptor come to take its life

And as it closed in for the capture
Funneled the fear through my ancient eyes
See in flight, what I know are the bitter mechanics of life

Under my hat it reads "the lines are all imagined"
A fact of life I know to hide from my little girls
I know my place amongst the bugs and all the animals
And it's from these ordinary people you are longing to be free

My hotel and on the TV
A preacher on a stage like a buzzard cries
Out a warning, phony sorrow, he's trying to get a rise

The cyanide of an almond
Let him look at your hands, get the angles right
Ace of spades, Port of Morrow, life is death is life

I saw a photograph: Cologne in '27
And then a postcard after the bombs in '45
Must've been a world of evil clowns that let it happen

But now I recognize, dear listeners
That you were there and so was I
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

Under my hat I know the lines are all imagined
A fact of life I must impress on my little girls
I know my place amongst the creatures in the pageant
And there are flowers in the garbage, and a skull under your curls

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah...