Asleep at the piano, and continuing the hunt
I was employed by forces beyond my grasp,
I was employee of the month
But they didn’t have to be so rude, and throw it in my face
When I was listening for your whistle note
Down in the contrabass
Did you stay up late inventing the state
And studying harmony?
Did you get your fill of the Sunset Grill
And driving west on Sunset to the sea?
It must be getting lonely in the hippie war on sports
When every land co-op in town has built a tennis court
But I’ll just go on listening and waiting for a sign
And if your sign is long burnt out
Well, better yours than mine
Did you fill the sink with ballpoint ink
And take your private vow?
Did you curse the raging LinnDrum syndrome
That washed you up where you are now?
Those who disown pleasure are patient-er than rocks
They’re set to inherit the earth and they never check the clock
But be careful if they offer a bite of what they eat
There is no butter, salt, or spice in the pilgrim’s recipe
Did you put some grease on your press release
And address it to The Times?
Did you shake your fist at the poisonous mist
That rolled you out of LA in your prime?
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