| I’m gonna sit on a big fluffy cloud
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| Looking down at the tops of the heads of the crowds
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| Moving round and around the dark center of town
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| With their eyes all searching for something that can’t be found
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| I’m gonna laugh at the top of my lungs till
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| I can’t quite remember just what the joke was
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| But the laughter will fill up my body with love
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| Which is always what I’ve been told I’m supposed to want
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| And I’m gonna fly on a plane to the sky
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| Which my mind will devise using science that’s being forgotten
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| 'Cause I’m getting bored of the town of New York
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| How the world’s been transformed into a big apple and it’s gotten so rotten
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| While all the world makes money so stoically
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| I will be building my home out of poetry
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| Scraps of old volumes, wire and glue
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| Will be something, though feeble, it’s all I can do
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| In the back of the room my fingers will shake
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| With the fury of someone with something to make
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| That will take him so far, far away from this place
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| That he’ll never look back at all the worms and the snakes
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| And they’ll lick at my heals, but they aren’t even real
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| I will twirl and wheel through the skyway, high over the steeple
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| And I’ll take you with me and we’ll grow old and lovely
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| We’ll eat fine apples from the tree of knowledge of good and evil
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| You won’t know about that
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| Burning with all the things I must do
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| To get free of the wasteland of wire and glue
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| I am wandering from cage to cage at the Bronx zoo
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| And I’m renaming all of the animals
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| I can’t just wait on my knees in the chapel
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| To be bitten into like a worm in the apple
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| I’m digging for freedom, it’s all for a shovel
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| I’m dirty; |
| my fingertips hurt me
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| The kids of Atlantis, magazines beneath the mattress
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| With their names in the atlas of heartbreak are calling my name
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| And I’m feeling baffled, the worm in the apple
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| But the cold water tap will rain down upon me
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| And nothing will be the same
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| It’s all gonna be different now
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| I hope |