The Dowser - Momus

I’ve found a place where the clothes don’t fit

Where I can whistle up the road in the rain

The old night porter sweeping up the shit

Making his legitimate claim

I jibber-jabber at the sight of the food

The spit hanging off my chin

My tummy rumbles and my guts all grind

I am anonymous and thin

Out pow-wowing with the creeps in the yard

Looking for an inch of skin

Back down to Sheridan Square

For a meeting with the gentlemen

Rancid jism in a furnished room

Boking in a bucket of tar

The living or the dead, sick or on the nod

Don’t really care who they are

The mark inside is coming up on me

A rumble nobody can cool

The Rube is a social liability

The pus oozing out of the hole

I found a place where the clothes don’t fit

And God has really let himself go

Explosions of matter in interstellar space

Smothered like a poke in the hole

The spoon and the dropper

And the dropper and the wax

The flesh gone rubbery and wrong

Only the young bring anything at all

And they’re not even young for long

My hand begin’s to dip like a dowser’s wand

Shaking on a government script

I swear I won’t do anything at all

To make the inquisitor sick

A yen comes on me like a great black wand

A great black wind through the bones

You can’t trust a special like the old time coppers

When you can’t find any way home

My old man said «Follow the van

And don’t dilly dally on the way»

Now I’m all holed up in room number nine

Staring at my shoes all day

I’ve found a place where the clothes don’t fit

Where I can whistle up the road in the rain

The old night porter sweeping up the shit

Making his legitimate claim

I’ve found a place where the clothes don’t fit

Where I can whistle up the road in the rain

The old night porter sweeping up the shit

Making his legitimate claim

I’ve found a place where the clothes don’t fit