Behind the gates I found a pillar
On which I could have hooked my hat
But the parrot put his feather boa
High up there on top of that
And squawked that doors were
Always made to fit best closed,
But I don't know, I took a glance
And saw just what it was that he proposed.
The parrot turned his red, red head
To a priest standing beside his cage
"Have you ever heard the word of God?"
He asked as if he asked his age,
And taking time to smoke with eyes
Of heroin and pillowed pills
The priest he answered twice as fast
I have the cure for God and what else ills.
This patient's tired of lying flat
On wheeled beds and three-legged stools
For cups and books you've thrown in flames
Those with their irons in the fire and fools
And tinkerers, tapping on tables without
A thought for bruising wood and sonic showers
They bring their fingers down like flesh nails
When the hammer has no greater powers
Nor the judge who swings it down
Nor the singer up on stage,
Nor the drunkard speaking with the priest,
Nor the parrot in his cage.
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