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“You’re Running up the Stairs,
Past a Ball Bouncing Down the Stairs,
Followed by a Kid Which Used to be You”

Nicholas Trutenko

They’re burning poets on crosses
And lighting up the night
With their artificial truths
Of religion and politics and
It ain’t so bad mother-fucker
Now get back in line

And you’d do something about it
But you don’t want to get burned
So you go home early
To make love to your wife
But she smells like sex
And it ain’t yours

Yeah. She’s so slick
She was born on third
And thought she hit a triple

Where the fuck have all the poets gone?
I look for them now more and more
As I get older and I realize
I’m running out of time and
I gotta know the truth

So I looked in The Cafe’
And I looked in Jax Tap and The Green Mill
And I looked in Weeds
And in my heart

But my heart is in Woodstock
And Haight-Asbury
And they’re gone now, man
All gone

I wish I’d of met Bob Dylan
And drank coffee with him
And learned the truth
Or read the words of the prophets
That Paul Simon said
Were written on the subway walls
And tenement halls

But, no one rides the subway in suburbia
And the slums are gone now
And replaced by Burger Kings
And Starbucks beatniks
In 2-piece suits
Hiding behind corporate politics
While burning poets on crosses

As the people look the other way

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