I am drunk again
waiting for the cab
The heavy rain washes
my spirit
Let us spare a fish bowl
for the lonely homeless man
The drunkard Saints I shall
miss them all
When I'm drunk again
I'll give them a call*

Farewell French Quarter
I bid you goodnight.

I still feel like a child
But with greater patience
The car honks

I feel like I will die sooner than it feels

The same old flowers, the same old pattern
And the door swings again back and forth from the soothing winds

We're on our cemetery walk
It's hot, sticky and quiet
The Schallenberg trash is full

"Ex umbris et imaginibus ad veritem"

Bus boy and bus girl
Dreaming the jazz theme
The American dream
There's grits on the table
Another sad fable of dreamers with big, crazy dreams

And I flick the cigarette **** on the *****'s SUV
I flee, I hide behind the Southern white veil
I ******* cower

Lady talks with her hands
I cannot ******* understand
The car horns beep again
And the drag queens chase men

It is all just wizard propaganda
It is all a ******* hoax
I want to stab my boss
I want to **** him

The streets scatter with life
A man with an electronic cross preaches in the streets of Bourbon
He's sad and confused, he's doesn't scare the dumb, drunk townfolk

The Miss Daisy sank
She was two hundred feet tall
With no worries at all
There are buskers all around and about

The swamp bar is clean
For my good friend Jimmy
He's here to play
He's come a long way

He is music to my ears
With my pack of 'Boros and my bourbon glass
He straightens the queers

The music floods me with joy
Like a dark cloud of sunshine

I drink to him
I'm the last to stay
I'm dying to play

*Dauphine cries to the sounds of sunken hope and dread
The sound is buried with dying laughter
The drummer is dead
The band plays on

The same one stands out on the balcony
Waiting for God to make her move
Dauphine shies the busy-bodied streets
Locks hotel door and cries for no reason
Sailors storm the streets with wooden hands
Grabbing and touching a ***** with termites
Pests lay dead on Toulouse
Katrina laughs at her *****, wet mess

Little man where are we taking you
Hold onto her hand tight
Terminal three is closed
Where must you go

Groggy-eyed bug face,
I think you should wake up now
We're taking you to Chicago
Don't let go of her pretty hands
There's much to see without anyone else

*Thick humid air eats me up
I can smell the American soils
I can see the greens of promised life

White fleet don't talk much
But that's fine with me