The Bourgeois Blues
The bourgeois blues have spread
way beyond Vienna.
Yesterday they rolled
under my bedroom door.
They crept up my William Morris wallpaper,
down the velvet drapes;
they stained the sheets
and ate my gladiola.
Leonard thinks I'm bathed in it.
Leonard thinks he's free,
But I know we're swimming
through the Company's dross.
This ain't the Jordan
in which we've been tossed.
It's the vomit of ages.
Babylon is a large mother.
Yesterday the bourgeois blues
rolled under my door.
Today I'll wash the curtain,
and hope there ain't no more.
