Fog Dog

Today I was good at the city Today I made some money See, mommy? Today I kissed a real beauty She was a painting she was glowing She was Santa Fe and roughed-up copper A real wrist-knocker A teenager next to an ash tray Under a grand piano they laid And nostrils flared as they misbehaved David, he played us a silent fugue Ears stuffed with flowers while Joe-Joe cruised And Duncan stirred though nothing was heard And I thought I saw your face in the fog But it was just the fog Oh, my God The fruits were all cold The fruits were all cold The fruits were all cold The fruits were all cold And swelling They put a hard face to soft sleep Pillowly Oh, daddy I'm seventeen (twenty-three) Well, aren't all we? --- Fog Dog - Porches