words and music by Stephen Barling

Sometimes, looking down on South Street
seems fine, danglin' out the old meat
those vinyl gloves must feel just so sweet
close to the light, waxing the candle to the soft beat

At one time, used to rooty-toot it
though half-blind, you found you could reroute it
it still shines, ain't no one can refute it
run it up the flagpole and let's see who will salute it again

It's in the name of the Lord
tell me the name of the band
if the harmonica bores you, don't tell Sid
so we can be together again