Walking Without Frankie

Throttling, hurtling — just going, going
And hurting knowing that it’s gone, and it’s going
And not knowing where — in the ground or in the air
Up the golden stair (or whatever) — it’s going
I stopped by the Lake of the Strangled Crane
It was the color of copper
I saw the crane operator
I heard the operator’s father say, «It looks like rain.»
And I had the operation because he said he was a doctor
And I was in pain
«Freedom,» or whatever, whatever you call it
It’s a stairway, or a slow ride
It’s «Rhiannon» or «Landslide»
I hear the bartender died of a broken heart and a shattered pelvis
He was buried in Kansas
It was part of a promotion
They were trying to undermine the confidence of the consumer
I saw a beautiful drummer in the web of a spider
And I wanted to save him
I saw a little boy in serious danger of growing older
And he was trapped sitting shotgun in a Cutlass Cruiser
When I’m on the street, something’s singing in my ear
And I hear a little voice all thumpthumpthumpthump-thumping in my chest
And I feel the hummingbird-fast heart in there whirring like mad
Got a spiriting feeling swimming around my head
And I haven’t even had any cocaine yet
And I don’t even want any though, I bet
It’s like some kind of sentence that passes between us that someone else said
I last saw you, Frankie, walking through that New Hampshire dew
And when you shot five thousand feet up into the grey sky, what could I do?
Now I bet you’re in space
Write me, or whatever
I feel so far away
Like I’m an old typewriter, out on the showroom floor
Like I’m the Last Starfighter and they forgot the war
And they burned my trailer
And they’re on my tail, And I’m out on tour
And I want Frankie
I want Frankie
I want Frankie
I want Frankie
I want Frankie
I want Frankie
I want Frankie
Oh man. All right