the church is blowing a sad windblown kathleen on the bells of the skid row slums i wake up goopy and woebegone at the mars hotel on 4th and howard do you remember dancing girls in st louis stan getz on the hi fi under midnight kitchen bulbs we all agree its too big to keep up with that were surrounded by life that well never understand it the great magical city of the gandharvas of san francisco where is the writer who could bring you sobbing through the bed fucking bed cribs of the moon to see it all even unto some robbery of the heart at dawn when no one cares im lost among strange agitators of the heart we center it all by swigging from the bottle all for two sticks of loco weed that grows by itself in texas because god wanted it great magical city of the gandharvas of san francisco