With masks on they huddle in squalor,
Air Force One approaches from the east,
Railroad boys, with purple dyes,
Humble my wretched priest.
People are dirty and liars,
That’s my maniacal taste,
Infant girls, with Danville curls,
Lie in the fireside waste.
Trees are green in the city,
But in my home country they’re black.
Working class dogs, the insolent cogs,
Fighting for a spot in the sack.
I follow them home on the subway.
They don’t see me, I don’t see them.
Commuting home, they cry alone.
And I sing a Methodist hymn.
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