Sharing a Gibson with Martin Luther King Jr.

All the leaves have turned to leather, I have lost faith in the spring
 Withered like a dark balloon, oh, I hear no robin sing
 Ushered with the shower still, oh, the rain falls off the leaves
 And a rim of shady light it forms the patterns on my hands
 I can see your ring, is it camouflaged or etched?
 Tell the king, to me this errand sent
 To call such a whore 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
 Oh, he got into a fluster, he felt a tightening in his leg
 With such finesse he waived a hornet from a wine glass
 And your tiny fluffs of the feathered life
 And you wander forth with your insolence and wine
 To your fruitless mourn, to them that cannot hear
 And 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 the pearl onions
 Dying eyes, gleamed forth their ashy light
 And your tiny fluffs of the feathered life
 And you wander forth with your insolence and wine
 To your fruitless mourn, to them that cannot hear