something like a love-song lurched across the room
and my heart was less than a dried-up crust of bread
the night pavement moving me far
from any place I could call home sweet hotel
oh the mexican belly dancers crying nada nada
oh the feisty mice with delicate feet and
the black wind cold as a hearse
advertising allows you to choose said the billboard
in god we trust said the money in the pocket
of the three-fingered man asking hopefully
can I buy you a drink honey.