Letra de Halcyon

You've got Dostoyevsky’s toothache
And Tom Traubert's broken heart
And you're mumbling songs about some things
That you can’t run away from
You're pleadin' that your liver hurts
I tell you things will get much worse
‘cause you still see that ghost
Down off of 9th and Acoma
You love this little hell of your own making
And write letters by the dozen addressed to anybody
Who will love this little hell of your own making
You write letters to St. Christopher
To help you find your way
To halcyon, so on the mescaline you'll stay
Was he slain on the streets of Denver
Or some Copenhagen jail?
You've got Dostoyevsky's gambling debt
And lackluster signs of regret
Dissociate degrees in the ashtray
You mouth words to strangers
On the C.M.E. to Aspen
‘I begged you to stab me,'
Like some Kafkaesque display
Of halcyon, so on the mescaline you'll stay
Take one good last look into my eyes
And then bury the blade