In the private hostel and a tiny bit of gospel because we still have to sing for our supper.
They still try to sell you on things that they tell you and we listen and pretend we believe.
I saw Satan in the soup dish and an angel in the cake, fourteen knights and old King Arthur who were standing by the lake
I take communion with the lady in the shower meant for men and a mass for me at midnight when the lady comes again.
We are eighteen carat diamonds Methuselah wears us well and we're in the private hostel halfway home half way to hell.
Strange what you think when you're homeless, even stranger when strangers think you're strange because you're homeless, glad I'm not homeless any more, is that strange to think like that?