There you go walking hRd ahead
with yR hands jammd
tight in yR pockitts,
maybe late 4 yR bus or
maybe yR marriage now,
it’s prying up the BIG rocks
aftR all these yeers and
there, there in the mud,
crawling around with far 2 mNy legs.
You are mad mad mad—
black or white,
leaning into the cold wind, head down
all alone on the cRwdid downtown streets:
in yR own wRld Rn’t cha?
maybe laaaaate for the bus.
So. thR ya R, hands jammd in yR pockitts,
like I sed,
feelings hRd as walnuts.
thRz that guy again,
that guy playN the mother lovin’ BAGPIPES
on the sidewalk.
He’s just playN and playN and playN
people walkN by,
he is Scotland all by hisself.
The case opened at his feet thR,
cRdbRd sign says, GOIN’ TO BRAZIL.
U wonder about that.
This guy, he’s going to bRzl, so,
I guess he needs a lot of BREATH in him.
He’s blowiN and blowiN like that so he can
Maybe he needs courage, like maybe
thRz a gRl in bRzl and
them 2 gonna tRy to make it wRk agin
after all these yRs.
Or maybe he needs those