found one



Called my ace down in Gomorrah

He wasn't home so I spoke

to the machine



Said, how's things at Ground Zero

You're my hero

You should be in a magazine



Mental pictures, hard predictions,

how would I

have ended up?



But I knew

I'd had

enough



Not cynical enough

to not want to hold

in the end,



but if I tell

the companion thoughts

I won't sound like a friend



Our generation's

tribal identity



is so much

smoke in a drain



Walking blues

is dead and gone,



so drive like rain