You're still the child. Suspended in space. Crying out to you. Beckons you to yet another fine place. Where the trials of life are few. Who says you are coming on. Don't think you're living long. They won't remember you. The rent is always due.. The cloudy men. Who take their place. And stand in line. They do. Know not of. The satin face. That separates them from you. Just put your blue jeans on. Grab your guitar and write a song. Don't think I'm kidding you. The rent is always due.. She rides a broom. With gold-plated straw. And flutters around. And dies. The Brylcream fools. Just standing on. Digesting all their lives. But then you walk along. And she starts coming on. Beneath her melting broom. The rent is always due.. .