| Save the Life Of My Child "Good God! Don't jump!" A boy sat on the ledge, an old man who had fainted was revived. And everyone agreed, would be a miracle indeed if the boy survived. "Save the life of my child!" cried the desperate mother, the woman from the supermarket ran to call the cops. "He must be high on something," someone said, though it never made The New York Times, in The Daily News, the caption read: "Save the life of my child!" cried the desperate mother. A patrol car passing by halted to a stop, said officer MacDougal in dismay: "The force can't do a decent job cause the kids got no respect for the law today (and blah blah blah)." "Save the life of my child!" cried the desperate mother. "Oh, what's becoming of the children?" people asking each other. When darkness fell, excitement kissed the crowd and it made them wild. In an atmosphere of freaky holiday, when the spotlight hit the boy and the crowd began to cheer, he flew away "Oh, my Grace, I got no hiding place." "Oh, my Grace, I got no hiding place." "Oh, my Grace, I got no hiding place." America "Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together. I've got some real estate here in my bag." So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies and walked off to look for America. "Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh, "Michigan seems like a dream to me now." It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw, I've come to look for America. Laughing on the bus, playing games with the faces. She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy. I said "Be careful, his bow tie is really a camera." "Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat." "We smoked the last one an hour ago." So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine and the moon rose over an open field. "Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping. "I'm empty and aching and I don't know why" Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike, they've all come to look for America. All come to look for America, all come to look for America. Overs Why don't we stop fooling ourselves? The game is over, over, over. No good times, no bad times, there's no times at all just The New York Times sitting on the windowsill near the flowers. We might as well be apart. It hardly matters, we sleep separately and drop a smile passing in the hall, but there's no laughs left cause we laughed them all and we laughed them all in a very short time. Time is tapping on my forehead, hanging from my mirror, rattling the teacups and I wonder how long can I delay? We're just a habit like Saccharine. And I'm habitually feeling kinda blue. But each time I try on the thought of leaving you, I stop. I stop and think it over. Old Friends Old friends. Old friends sat on their park bench like bookends. A newspaper blown through the grass falls on the round toes of the high shoes of the old friends. Old friends. Winter companions, the old men lost in their overcoats waiting for the sunset. The sounds of the city sifting through the trees settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends. Can you imagine us years from today sharing a park bench quietly? How terribly strange to be seventy. Old friends. Memory brushes the same years, silently sharing the same fear. Bookends Time it was, and what a time it was, it was a time of innocence, a time of confidences. Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph, preserve your memories, they're all that's left you. Fakin' It When she goes, she's gone. If she stays, she stays here. The girl does what she wants to do, she knows what she wants to do And I know I'm fakin' it. I'm not really making it. Such a dubious soul and a walk in the garden wears me down. Tangled in the fallen vines, picking up the punch lines, I've just been fakin' it, not really making it. Is there any danger? No, no, not really, just lean on me. Take the time to treat your friendly neighbors honestly. I've just been fakin' it, not really making it. This feeling of fakin' it, I still haven't shaken it. Prior to this lifetime, I surely was a tailor, look at me... ("Good morning, Mr. Leitch, Have you had a busy day?") I own the tailor's face and hands, I am the tailor's face and hands. I know I'm fakin' it. I'm not really making it. This feeling of fakin' it, I still haven't shaken it, shaken it. I know I'm fakin' it. I'm not really making it. Punky's Dilemma Wish I was a Kellogg's Cornflake, floating in my bowl, taking movies, relaxing a while, living in style. Talking to a raisin who occasionally plays L.A. Casually glancing at his toupee. Wish I was an English muffin about to make the most out of a toaster. I'd ease myself down, coming up brown. I prefer boysenberry more than any ordinary jam. I'm a "Citizens for Boysenberry Jam" fan. Ah, South California If I become a first lieutenant, would you put my photo on your piano? "To Maryjane- Best wishes, Martin." Old Roger draft-dodger leaving by the basement door. Everybody knows what he's tippy-toeing down there for. Mrs. Robinson And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know, wo wo wo. God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson, Heaven holds a place for those who pray, hey hey hey, hey hey hey. We'd like to know a little bit about you for our files. We'd like to help you learn to help yourself. Look around you, all you see are sympathetic eyes. Stroll around the grounds until you feel at home. And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know, wo wo wo. God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson, Heaven holds a place for those who pray, hey hey hey, hey hey hey. Hide it in a hiding place where no one ever goes. Put it in your pantry with your cupcakes. It's a little secret, just the Robinsons' affair. Most of all you've got to hide it from the kids, Coo coo ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know, wo wo wo. God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson, Heaven holds a place for those who pray, hey hey hey, hey hey hey. Sitting on a sofa on a Sunday afternoon, going to the candidate's debate. Laugh about it, shout about it when you've got to choose. Every way you look at it you lose. Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you, woo woo woo. What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson? Joltin' Joe has left and gone away, hey hey hey, hey hey hey. A Hazy Shade Of Winter Time, time, time, see what's become of me. While I looked around for my possibilities, I was so hard to please. But look around, leaves are brown and the sky is a hazy shade of winter. Hear the Salvation Army band down by the riverside, it's bound to be a better ride than what you've got planned, carry your cup in your hand. And look around, leaves are brown and the sky is a hazy shade of winter. Hang onto your hopes, my friend. That's an easy thing to say but if your hopes should pass away simply pretend that you can build them again. Look around, the grass is high, the fields are ripe, it's the springtime of my life. Seasons change with the scenery, weaving time in a tapestry, won't you stop and remember me at any convenient time? Funny how my memory skips while looking over manuscripts of unpublished rhyme, drinking my vodka and lime, I look around leaves are brown and the sky is a hazy shade of winter. Look around, leaves are brown there's a patch of snow on the ground. Look around, leaves are brown there's a patch of snow on the ground. Look around, leaves are brown there's a patch of snow on the ground. At The Zoo Someone told me it's all happening at the zoo. I do believe it, I do believe it's true. It's a light and tumble journey from the East Side to the park, just a fine and fancy ramble to the zoo. But you can take a cross-town bus if it's raining or it's cold, and the animals will love it if you do. Something tells me it's all happening at the zoo. I do believe it, I do believe it's true. The monkeys stand for honesty, giraffes are insincere and the elephants are kindly but they're dumb. Orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages and the zookeeper is very fond of rum. Zebras are reactionaries, antelopes are missionaries, pigeons plot in secrecy and hamsters turn on frequently, what a gas, you've got to come and see at the zoo, at the zoo... |
| Bookends |