Oh hobo, so somnambulant Faded in the manger Puppetting sleepy movement, a carnival of fantasy Interval steeped in tea stain drudgery Swollen nicknacks, belligerent blubberry Making love in Victorian shrubbery With your hand in your pocket The one with the big frayed holes So big it swallowed sunset And the geese flew overhead, heading south for the winter In the last pink autumn clouds The darkness grew and enveloped you Like a sweater, like a sweaty lover Who never wrote a loving letter Passing swiftly at drunken speed, fast-forward-train-gallop Getty-up and get going, the gardener's prodding you with his rake Urging you abruptly to wake out in the chilly morning air Steamy when breathed into Your pocket flask is empty Your pocket flask is empty