Comes the time when it's later

and onto your table the headwaiter

puts the bill, and very soon after

rings out the sound of lively laughter--



Picking up change, hands like a walrus,

and a face like a barndoor's,

and a head without any apparent size,

nothing but two eyes--



So that's you, man,

or me. I make it as I can,

I pick up, I go

faster than they know--



Out the door, the street like a night,

any night, and no one in sight,

but then, well, there she is,

old friend Liz--



And she opens the door of her cadillac,

I step in back,

and we're gone.

She turns me on--



There are very huge stars, man, in the sky,

and from somewhere very far off someone hands

   me a slice of apple pie,

with a gob of white, white ice cream on top of it,

and I eat it--



Slowly. And while certainly

they are laughing at me, and all around me is racket

of these cats not making it, I make it



in my wicker basket.