All the leaves have turned to leather   I have lost faith in the spring   Withered like a dark balloon   I hear no robin sing   Ushered with no shower still   Oh the rain falls off the eaves   And a rim of shady light   That forms these patterns on my hands      I can see your ring   Is it camouflaged or etch   Tell your king   From me this errand sent   To call such a hole   In the kingdom of the Lord   That we are afraid   Where there is no fear      Oh he fell into a slumber   And did not wake until the dawn   To see a band of orange clouds   Cross the middle of the sky   He got into a fluster   He felt a tightening in his leg   With such finesse he waived a hornet   From a wine glass      And tiny fluffs of the feathered life   And you wander forth   With your insolence and wine   The fruitless mourn   To whom that cannot hear   What the fuck am I doing here      In the ghettos of Chicago   Amid the poverty and despair   Inside the game hens   Were the giblets in a plastic bag   A cocktail which consisted of   His gin and her vermouth   Garnished together with pearl onions   And dying eyes gleamed forth their ashy light   Tiny fluffs of the feathered life   And you wander forth   With your insolence and wine   A fruitless mourn   To whom that cannot hear