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Through the rain and all the clatter Under the Fremont bridge I saw a pigeon fly Fly in fear from the raptor come to take its life And as it closed in for the capture I funneled the fear through my ancient eyes To see in flight, what I know are the bitter mechanics of life Under my hat it reads "the lines are all imagined" A fact of life I know to hide from my little girls I know my place amongst the bugs and all the animals And it's from these ordinary people you are longing to be free My hotel and on the TV A preacher on a stage like a buzzard cries Out a warning of phony sorrow, he's trying to get a rise The cyanide of an almond Let him look at your hands, get the angles right Ace of spades, port of morrow, life is death is life I saw a photograph: Cologne in '27 And then a postcard after the bombs in '45 Must've been a world of evil clowns that let it happen But now I recognize, dear listeners That you were there and so was I Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah Under my hat I know the lines are all imagined A fact of life I must impress on my little girls I know my place amongst the creatures in the pageant And there are flowers in the garbage, and a skull under your curls Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah...