Nobody Home

I've got a little black book with my poems in Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in I got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on Got those swollen-hand blues I got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from I've got electric light And I've got second sight I got amazing powers of observation And that is how I know When I try to get through On the telephone to you There'll be nobody home I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm And the inevitable pinhole burns All down the front of my favorite satin shirt I've got nicotine stains on my fingers I've got a silver spoon on a chain Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains I've got wild staring eyes And I've got a strong urge to fly But I got nowhere to fly to Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone (Surprise, surprise, surprise) there's still nobody home I've got a pair of Gohills boots But I got fading roots