There was a man whose memories
were made up of nothing.
He'd push the elevator button,
and go home to nothing.
Yes his business had prospered
but women get lonely sometimes,
now she has the house
His son in college had dropped out,
To expand his mind.
And Sarah, his daughter
had not spoken to him.
Maybe he’d raised her
the wrong way he wondered.
He checked his mailbox,
with fingers a-tremblin’
No mail, from anyone.
“I’m home” he said softly,
as he opened the door
and gazed at his empty apartment.
Aching, thinking.
Southbound jericho parkway
Is what you call a one-way street.
Southbound jericho parkway
Is what you call a one-way street.
At 7:20, Monday after New Year,
Mister Henry Johnson
leaned against the pedal
Aimed his Lincoln steady
and drove himself into a wall.

How could a thing
such as this ever happen?
All the community
said it was a shame
He was a good man,
he was a clean man. yeah,
that was it: he was a good, clean man
And his landlady said
he was an exemplary tenant.
They’re always nice and quiet
when they’re all alone at his age.

The young man sat
on a small woven mat.
While the silken smoke
it circled overhead.
The cigarettes were there
to prove he didn’t care
‘Bout the contents of
the telegram he’d just read.
Father, father, father.
You always seemed
to be so out of reach.
And the psychedelic sign read: peace

Apartment in New York,
a girl closes the door,
And leans against it
with her head bowed low.
Thoughts raced through her mind
Of when she was a child.
Raised warmly by a man
she didn’t know.
Father, father, father.
She wished she had
phoned him yesterday
There were so many things
she had to say

Henry, the check is in my hands
Brought by the insurance man
to cover all my plans
We’ll have flowers,
your broker will be there
And Sarah, if she cares,
and our boy with all his hair
And the sun rose, and the sun set
As it always has,
And people yet unknown,
were busy being born,
And time went past.