His Friends Said, "why Do You Have

That's The Story Of My Life Rich Or Poor And Mostly Poor And Truly Poor.

Soon It Got Dusk, A Grapy Dusk, A Purple Dusk Over Tangerine Groves And Long Melon Fields; The Sun The Color Of Pressed Grapes, Slashed With Burgandy Red, The Fields The Color Of Love And Spanish Mysteries.

Equally Empty, Equally To Be Loved, Equally A Coming Buddha

Holy Flowers Floating In The Air, Were All These Tired Faces In The Dawn Of Jazz America.

And When The Fog's Over And The Stars And The Moon Come Out At Night It'll Be A Beautiful Sight.