i could not hold on anymore
to the desperate plea of the futile ones
who live off another wallet
so i set out that night for the south
to find the great parking lots
where i might find a space and place to rest my weary head
where i might find a place to be safely reckless
with her potions and instruments
but the violin she played spun a queer note
and i knew that if i did not go on with
whatever she wanted she would be the end of me
the  end of poor poor me
gather my slim riches in my carpetbaggers coat
and picked up the threadbare bag
that had all the steam-pipes and tools
for making a new titanic
lets sink it right this time
we ended up just east of Pensacola
in a fairytale land of flea markets
trying to barter our yesterdays
for a bowl of thin soup today
gather my threadbare deadlock hippie chick companion
and counseled her against talking too loud
against the tourqouse monsters
and she told me i was just nervouse
and stripped away the rationalizations
to show that the fat man is only selling tickets
to the free show
so i follow her
having made up my mind that she sees the reality
of this sandy soil wasteland
we ended up leaving Pensacola
and with a quick prayer
we were on the the boat to the Bahama
with our lives intact
maybe next time we will escape
maybe next time you will come back with another woman stead of me
and i said that's a possibility
that wouldn't make either of us happy but
that's the way it should be sometimes
life doesn't always make sense
well most of the time it dont