Roberta

Whoever owns the night, the wind hushed fog dunes, makes you wonder why, she keeps a cheerful home, beats away the blues, always on the go, forgets the bitter times, all the cool untruths, bars, rain, gloom, suicide, dreams of New York, always glad to see you, since thank Christ you phoned, the air splashing by, searching for truth, some waste all their lives, others touch the stones, kid themselves to look, what they had before, She whistles at freedom passing by, laughs and hums a tune, says it's stupid to lie, this is what I do.