Something would come of it yet The last *******-wild, cosmic amphetamine eyes Howled down the eastern hills To the city’s beckoning lights
Tramps and harlots light fire from their palms Blown pupils dark in love sick, longing eyes Growing with the wild, restless wind In lustful, glamorous disguise
And there the angel of the evening Sat upon the sultry heat As troubadours gaze into the mirror She pours them pills in restless fleets
And as the city settles And the western wind starts to blow The dizzy euphoria sinks away As their vision starts to close
So dawn breaks the singing night The buzzing high leaves the blood The poets and painters Let their stream of consciousness flood
Torn rhymes cover the wall Where artists and addicts have met Where splattered tunes had brayed Something came of it yet.