The Times Are A-Changing

Under a corner street lamp, she waits for her prince. Another hobo in the gutter, who's been drinking ever since. Bandana wearing street gangs, two-time peddling corner thugs. Cocaine dreams of the seventies, the columbian high roller's drugs. Dames and broads none alike, red lipstick moulin rouge types. Fancy bar stools ran clockwork, banners of stars and stripes. Ed's grocery store closed down, said the hoodlums made messes. The forties tossed into history, along with halter printed dresses. Sinatra would steal the show, old blue eyes cheek to cheek. Musicians lose that tune affair, like rowboats spring a leak. That smell of fresh vinyl, no sound could ever compare. Americana slang of the century, the cat's pajamas, unreal square. Those days are long forgotten, applied to that false automaton. Who will be there in the end, for all mankind to carry on?