The church is blowing a sad windblown “Kathleen”
On the bells of the skid row slums
I wake up goopy and woebegone
At the Mars Hotel on 4th and Howard
Do you remember dancing girls in St. Louis
Stan Getz on the hi-fi under midnight kitchen bulbs
We all agree it’s too big to keep up with
That we’re surrounded by life – that we’ll
Never understand it
The great magical city of the Gandharvas
Of San Francisco
Where is the writer who could bring you
Sobbing through the bed fucking bed cribs
Of the moon to see it all even unto
Some robbery of the heart at dawn
When no one cares
I’m lost among strange agitators of the heart
We center it all by swigging from the bottle
All for two sticks of loco weed
That grows by itself in Texas because god wanted it
Great magical city of the Gandharvas
Of San Francisco