Jesus said bring me the destitute, the hungry and the sick It don't matter what you brand me, why don't you take your pick It ain't the lack of money that makes a fella poor It's the footsteps of the one you love walkin' out the door Walkin' out the door Countless smoky Greyhounds won't cease to stop my rest Cross-country railway cars where they only serve the best An angle of complacency stretched me cross the rack The smiling ghost of decency drove me off the track Drove me off the track Pots and pans rattle and the door slams Can't seem to find the salt Even the scraps are tasting flat It's just one more day the dollar ain't what is used to be I don't mind being blind so long as there's someone out there can see One by one the TVs are shutting down The buildings go to sleep The all-night D.J.'s serenade is the only company I keep There's little rhyme or reason to these words that float in space They recall some times and places I can no longer clearly place No longer clearly place