I slow down, Purple AvenuenTo march around in April's shoesnWeathervanes remindnOf the summertimes that I've left behindnnMoney's gone, for Auld Lang SynenI spent on eastern standard timenWhatever happened to my rollnSeptember fell right through the holenAll I've got is empty pockets nownnWhy does August try so hardnTo hoist me on my own petardnI've learned one thing from how we werenThat an ounce of prevention's worth a pound of curennThe shadows fall but I cannot threadnThe tenor of the things you saidnAll that's left is flesh and bonenLights are on but no one's homenAll I've got is empty pockets nownnI spill myself another drinknI count the silver in the sinknThe orchestra is blindnBut I've never been the worrying kindnnSubsequently and furthermorenI'll sleep right here on the draining boardnI'll never be parolednI like to drink them while they're coldnAll I've got is empty pockets now