unnin out’v words

can’t keep up the pace

keep away the pain,

and Mr. Truth sits there like some Grandpa

rockin on spot

unlit pipe and half an apple

runnin out’v words

no fendin off my desire

to sabotage the claim,

to blow apart some silly little house on some prairie,

another desire for some silky silky thrills

runnin out’v words

can’t find no lover

no way,

can’t recognize the sound of rain

the change of wind

questionable drums

stormy-jungle arms…

can’t read the truth

translated

from some menu

without foreign words

NYC, 1968