One for the shoeshine man
The balance is preserved by snails climbing the Santa Monica cliffs
The luck is walking down Western Avenue
And having the girls in the massage parlor holler at you, "Hello Sweetie!"
The miracle is having five women in love with you, at the age of fifty-five
And the goodness that you're only able to love one of them
The gift is having a doctor more gentle than you are
His laughter is finer than yours
The peace comes from driving a blue, sixty-seven Volks through the streets like a teenager
Radio tuned to the host who loves you most
Feeling the sun, feeling the solid hum of the rebuilt motor
As you needle through traffic
The grace is being able to like rock music, symphony music, jazz
Anything that contains the original energy of joy
And the probability that returns is a deep-blue low
Yourself flat upon yourself within the guillotine walls
Angry at the sound of the phone, or anybody's footsteps passing
But the other probability, the wilting high, that always follows
Makes the girl at the check stand in the supermarket look like Marilyn
Like Jackie, before they got her Harvard lover
Like the girl in high school that we all followed home
There is that which helps you believe in something else besides death
Somebody in a car, approaching on a street too narrow
And he, or she, pulls aside to let you by
Or the old fighter, Beau Jack's shining shoes
After blowing the entire bankroll on Hardee's, on women, on parasites
Humming, breathing on the leather
Working the rag, looking up and saying, "What the hell. I had it for a while, that beats the other. I am bitter sometimes but the taste has often been sweet"
It's only like I cared to say it
It's like when your woman says, "Tell me you love me" and you can't
The balance is preserved by snails climbing the Santa Monica cliffs
The luck is walking down Western Avenue
And having the girls in the massage parlor holler at you, "Hello Sweetie!"
The miracle is having five women in love with you, at the age of fifty-five
And the goodness that you're only able to love one of them
The gift is having a doctor more gentle than you are
His laughter is finer than yours
The peace comes from driving a blue, sixty-seven Volks through the streets like a teenager
Radio tuned to the host who loves you most
Feeling the sun, feeling the solid hum of the rebuilt motor
As you needle through traffic
The grace is being able to like rock music, symphony music, jazz
Anything that contains the original energy of joy
And the probability that returns is a deep-blue low
Yourself flat upon yourself within the guillotine walls
Angry at the sound of the phone, or anybody's footsteps passing
But the other probability, the wilting high, that always follows
Makes the girl at the check stand in the supermarket look like Marilyn
Like Jackie, before they got her Harvard lover
Like the girl in high school that we all followed home
There is that which helps you believe in something else besides death
Somebody in a car, approaching on a street too narrow
And he, or she, pulls aside to let you by
Or the old fighter, Beau Jack's shining shoes
After blowing the entire bankroll on Hardee's, on women, on parasites
Humming, breathing on the leather
Working the rag, looking up and saying, "What the hell. I had it for a while, that beats the other. I am bitter sometimes but the taste has often been sweet"
It's only like I cared to say it
It's like when your woman says, "Tell me you love me" and you can't
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