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Augie March
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Addle Brains
A Tuesday night in Winter
Holed up in the city of ravens
The owls in the hills hoo hooing
And eying off the field mice
Down in the cold gray center
Addle Brains lining up with the dead
For the soup spoon
Addle Brains and the legions of the passed
For the bread bag
Ladle the soup, pass the rolls
Addle Brains and the many not here
And loose souls
One might fly off to the blank heavens
And the lead high halls
Oh, the hungry sky aches for blokes without folks
And bulges with the bearers of palls
Addle Brains would drink for four days and no eats
And sleep in the glens of botanical parks
And on the humped bus shelter seats
Where it's cold, where it's cold
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One morning I woke up in a room in the nation's heart
And couldn't think for the life of me what I was doing
Or where to start or what rehearsal was required
I was so sad and tired
What does a bird want with money?
Was he made this way?
Do you have to earn the right to find all of this funny?
Nothing's funny today
Addle Brains mixes his powders
With his fateful blues
And the wide eyed bubs of the Parliament
Couldn't give a hoot or even two
All it takes, it takes, is a kind look
And a word, a word,
Some pretty eyes and skin
From your fine family, you were given to win
And spill it over into the basin of common sin
Just a drop, a drop of the stuff that makes us kin
Addle Brains perching way out on a limb
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