Nobody Home

I've got a little black book with my poems in
 Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in
 When I'm a good dog
 They sometimes throw me the bone in
 I got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on
 Got those swollen hand blues
 I got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from
 I've got electric light
 And I've got second sight
 I got amazing powers of observation
 And that is how I know, when I try to get through
 On the telephone to you, there'll be nobody home
 I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm and the inevitable pinhole burns
 Now all down the front of my favorite satin shirt
 I've got nicotine stains on my fingers, I've got a silver spoon on a chain
 Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains
 I've got wild staring eyes
 And I've got a strong urge to fly, but I got nowhere to fly to
 Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone there is still nobody home
 I've got a pair of Gohills boots and I got fading roots