Last night a van with a clown on its back took a one-man show down a windy road. He’s heading down to a woman I know – and the saddest of places I used to go:
Rows of books would line the walls, paper souls she had in store, voices lurking in the hall, crying – “Poetry’s gone to Hell!” and the turnover’s not what it used to be and the paint’s been peeling for years –
But there’s a snow-cat in the window, and a card of the pier – “Won’t you come down the stair and try my wares?” said Madame Alchemier – “Well maybe they don’t want you, and maybe they can’t hear? and maybe they don’t want you”, said Madame Alchemier.
Out on the Boulevard sequins abound in another Circus of Charisma. One more festival glittering past – If they want something, they’ll come to me…
No more writers want to read, No more talkers want to hear, No more painters want to see Looks like Poetry’s gone to hell!
And the turnover’s not what it used to be, And the paint’s been peeling for years – But there’s a snow-cat in the window….Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
