I sit here lectured, sluggish and smoked
my mind stifled, beheaded and choked
here I hang, flapping in the wind
my cup is now empty, once filled to the brim

rustic ruins smoke cigars at night
not enough money to purchase a plight
I plea for integrity, for sand under my feet
someone cool to drink and hot to eat

blackness surrounds the klansman ’til dawn
watching him awake and put his boots on
waltzing down alleys, looking for a seat
the signpost ahead, this is positively 4th street

brown leaves sway and dance in the breeze
escape to the ballroom, drop to your knees
cheek to cheek with the walrus at night
not enough happiness to buy back your rights

(from “Part Three: Seduced By Fantasy…”)

Just rubbish, really. I was reading a lot about Jim Morrison at the time.