Only a dime a dozen for these broken dreams,
a free wooden nickel with each pack of lies.
A jar of hoodwinks, flimflams, and bumfuzzles,
a bucket of lost hope, and a box of how time flies.
A Brooklyn bridge, a few penniless thoughts,
next to some wasted time and that mirror and smoke.
Some dirt-cheap hooks, lines and sinkers,
a bunch of fake smiles, and a couple pigs in a poke.
Some bamboozles and a few hornswoggles,
a pile of ashes from some bridges I’ve burned.
A sow’s ear, some silver thread and a gold needle,
a silk purse filled with the lessons I never could learn.
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