Nobody Home

Note: 

This lyrics cannot be more appropriate right now.

I've got a little black book with my poems in 

Got a bag with toothbrush and comb in

When I'm good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in

I got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on

Got those swollen-hand blues

I got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from

I've got electric light

And I've got second sight

I got amazing powers of observation

And that is how I know

When I try to get through

On the telephone to you

There'll be nobody home

I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm

And the inevitable pinhole burns

All down my favorit satin shirt

I've got nicotine stains on my fingers

I've got a silver spoon on a chain

Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains

I got wild staring eyes

And I've got a strong urge to fly

But I got nowhere to fly to

Ooh, babe when you pick up the phone

There's still nobody home

I've got a pair of Gohills boots 

But I got fading roots