I can't know the song of the south
When my needle points north
The blue south elegant with lovely lake
Eyes in a smiling river on fire, look at me
Ape, the tailor whose fine linens he knows
Makes a man out of safety pins, proud as an Indian
I figure in future years I'll be stained by the tears
Of desperate clinging
Miracle girls, commercially perfect
Excel at Port Authority
Shall I run out to meet your hopes
Of liquor, tobacco, and chocolate?
Up on Chocolate Mirror Mountain
Subtle and juicy