Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I pitied you like a rain in the train
i pitied you like a snake in the cold winter sun
i pitied you like a cheap cigar in the drizzle
i pitied you like gun after the deed is done
i pitied you like a diamond in a ring of bondage
i pitied you like an old blues record rolling down the road
i pitied you like a wooden Indian standing on its head
and spitting out wooden nickles, and the band plays on
i pitted you like a two-bit hooker on Sunday morning

waiting for the drunkards to get out of the late mass
i pitied you like a piss poor poet looking for a poem
i pitied you like a traveling freak show looking for an empty lot
on the edge of town looking for a frown to flip the gyp
i pitied you like a an alley cat looking like it lost its fight
with a street sweeper, like it had lost to a vacuum cleaner

i pitied you when you stood on the corner and waved at the world
like it was your last goodby, i pitied you when you cried at your
own funeral, and did not even know that nobody else showed up
i pitied that and i pitted the flowers as they died in the tin can vase
and i pitied that sad face as it turned away slowly from lips it never kissed
you will not be missed, but the crows will gather at the emptiness, you left