" To speak in a flat voice Is all that I can do. I have gone every place Asking for you. Wondering where to turn And how the search would end And the last streetlight spin Above me blind.
Then I returned rebuffed And saw under the sun The race not to the swift Nor the battle won. Liston dives in the tank, Lord, in Lewiston, Maine, And Ernie Doty's drunk In hell again.
And Jenny, oh my Jenny Whom I love, rhyme be damned, Has broken her spare beauty In a whorehouse old. She left her new baby In a bus-station can, And sprightly danced away Through Jacksontown.
Which is a place I know, One where I got picked up A few shrunk years ago By a good cop. Believe it, Lord, or not. Don't ask me who he was. I speak of flat defeat In a flat voice.
I have gone forward with Some, a few lonely some. They have fallen to death. I die with them. Lord, I have loved Thy cursed, The beauty of Thy house: Come down. Come down. Why dost Thou hide thy face? "