And I'll end with this one, which is called
"The Songs We Know best."
"Just like a shadow in an empty room,
like a breeze that's pointed from beyond the tomb,
just like a project of which no one tells, or did you really
think that I was somebody else?
Your clothes and pant legs looking out of shape,
shape of the body over which they drape.
Body which is acted in so many scenes, but did you
ever think of what that body means?
It is an organ and a vice to some, a necessary evil which
we all must shun.
To others, an abstraction and a piece of meat.
But when you're looking out, you're in the driver's seat.
No man cares little about fleshly things.
They fill in with a silence that spreads and rings.
We wish to know more, but we are never sated.
No wonder some folks think the flesh is overrated.
The things we know now all got learned in school.
Try to learn a new thing and you break the rule.
Our knowledge isn't much.
It's just a small amount, but you feel it quick inside you
when you're down for the count.
You look at me and frown like I was out of place.
I guess I never did much for the human race, just hatched
some schemes on paper that looked good at first.
Sat around and watched until the bubble burst.
And now you're looking good all up and down the line,
except for one thing you still have in mind.
It's always there, though often with a different face.
It's the worm inside the jumping beam that makes it race.
Too often when you thought you'd be showered
with confetti, what they flung at
you was a plate of hot spaghetti.
You put your fancy clothes and flashy gems in hock,
yet you pause before your father's door afraid to knock.
Once you knew the truth, it tried to set you free.
And still you stood transfixed just like an apple tree.
The truth it came and went and left you in the lurch,
and now you think you see it from your lofty perch.
The others come and go.
They're just a dime a dozen.
You react to them no more than to a distant cousin.
Only a few people can touch your heart, and they too it seems
have all gotten a false start.
In twilight, the city with its hills
shine serene and lets you make of it
more than anything could mean.
It's the same city by day that seems so crude and calm.
You'll have to get to know it, not just pump its arm.
Even when that bugle sounded loud and clear,
you knew it put an end to all your fear,
to all that lying in the senseless mistakes.
And now you've got it right and you know what it takes.
Someday I'll look you up when we're both old and gray
and talk about those times we had so far away,
how much it mattered then and how it matters still.
Only things look so different when you've got a will.
It's true that out of this misunderstanding could end
and men would greet each other like they'd found a friend.
With lots of friends around, there's no one to entice.
And don't you think seduction isn't very nice.
It carries in this room against the painted wall
and hangs in folds of curtains when it's not there at all.
It's woven in the flowers of the pattern spread
and lies, and knows not what it thinks upon the bed.
I wish to come to know you get to know you all,
let your belief in me and me and you
stand tall just like a project at which no one tells.
Or do you still think that I'm somebody else?"
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]
I'd be happy to autograph any books if you would like me to.
So I'll be here.