Outside my window
the raven calls
to follow him again
as in that kingdom far away
in a time when hoods
of muslin saved our sight
from the the diamond in his eye
that blazed like a thousand suns
And wasn't it you
who told me that love
is like a banana
you've got to peel
away the facade
And wasn't it you I saw
seething inside your skin
at the Metropolitan Opera
grunting like a pig
when the fat lady sang
hooting from the balcony
like a Portuguese pimp
a break with tradition to be sure
running amuck till they pinned you down
inside the ladies room
tempest in a pisspot
And isn't that
Miz Chauncey Lee Lamour
sitting right over there
sucking on her
mint julep
trading tales
of the good ol' days
when men were men
and women were horses
and GIDDYUP OL' PAINT
was the prelude to a kiss
her entourage
of the rouged and the wrinkled
hanging on her every word
well aware that
most men in America
in this year of the locust
in this decade of the plague
would rather be sniffing
through the long abandoned
ruins of an old haunt
than to give up the ghost
to your baby-faced whore
And now my old friend the raven
has moved to Baltimore
where he works as a squeegie man
on certain odd numbered holidays
and plays the guitar
with Eric Clapton
and sometimes Charlie Byrd
while all the sweet young things chant
GO CAT GO!
GO CAT GO!
But well you know
that the whole world's a stage
that you're going through
just to get to someplace else
and though they stomp and shout
for another encore
quoth the raven: AINT NO MORE !
It was a lively time
says Miz Chauncey Lee Lamour
well aware that most men in America
take their pants off one leg at a time
all grist for a story of some kind
and you know dahling
you really should write it
