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lirik lagu james ragan - the tent people of beverly hills

faceless on the boulevard of mirrors
north along the flats of rodeo drive’s
stripped bald head mannequins
they come treading on
the fears of high fashion
tents on their backs
and on their cheeks the beach
black tar of tasteless chic

as if to dress were not enough
we would have them wash
our backhand slap
from their rimbaud faces

and all through the supple stick lash
wands of their eyes, all
through the wind whiskers
of fishbone and sour cream
curdled by fame
they see along the fruit stalls and deli box bins
of wilshire boulevard

the world in the room
of their small walk~sp~ce;
they are never certain
whether they are merely asked
to fill a role like memory
in a thoughtful dream of place
or live always short of major
in a dying minor sort of way
as if to live were time enough
we would have them end
beyond their means

hours long they scrabble
onto walls and mirrors
the words they would like to leave us
the haunted prints of thought~falls
drifting out of mind’s possession
like nostalgia or grief
the world has lost its face

there are no hobo kings or pioneers
late to live by. when they lie
above the windy steam of sewer grates
dream~still and all~mind gone
they warm their body holes to sleep
they wake to be awake
in the dreams of many
who never took the road
to gypsy sorrow, breathing is enough

it is a mistake to feel themselves alone
to fill their skyholes up with dark

there has never been a need
for crying, the dying say
once we move within the final
inch of breath, there is no other
there are a million tents in the universe
with holes we mistake for stars

- lirik lagu james ragan

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