A quadruple faced lie walking down the street
The quartet is playing it's favorite tune
The lead singer is humming his old song
The guitarist is fingertiping them worn strings
That sit quietly waiting for its plaything
The drummer is carrying his set on his shoulders
Like the cross that Jesus hung on
In his dear life
The saxophone player, he is blowing his lungs to a tee
Rugged and filled with smoke that passed long ago
Maybe before he was born
The mother was hooked
Crack and books
Father was not around
So it keeps running
The same old song
He stopped and looked
Gazing on the pavement
He said the only thing that was ever so familiar:
"Dandelions".