Song Cycle
Album - 1968 - Debaser id 96073

By Palm Desert to market to buy. Tenderfoot up to date palms of the real estate. By Palm Desert springs often run dry. I came west unto Hollywood, never-never land. Juxtaposed to B.B.D. and O. Beyond San Fernando on hillside manors on the banks of toxicity those below and those above the same. Dreams are still born in Hollywood I don't understand. Just suppose the youngster knows he's had a good deal of fortune and up through the babble on the fair banks complicity, buy your leave or stay beyond the game. Palm Desert not fade away. Palm Desert I wish I could stay. Palm Desert sages abound. So head your head to the ground round. Meanwhile in the wild west of Hollywood age is losing hold. Inasmuch as you are touched to have withstood by the very old search for the truth within the bounds of toxicity. Left unsung so I have strung the frame.

What's up Laurel canyon, hay.
What is up in Laurel Canyon the seat of the beat to greet and eat at the heart of their companion way. That's up Laurel Canyon.
And what is up the Canyon will even eventually come down.

I was there upon a four poster there. Mind touseled I came to bear some thoughts from the past amid a dash of influenza. And then I came to see in baggage the memories of truncated souvenirs. The war years. High moon I said high moon lighted high moon eye to my moon. Far beyond the blue mist enveloped lawn the blanketed night comes on. The champagne is dead and gone. The forest around sensitive sound forest primeval. Through the panes cloud buttermilk war remains and twisted cross war refrains lunatic so high moon I said high moon lighted high moon eye to my moon. Your age will most probably carry away the letters enveloped in carrion. Vague unpleasantries of the war. May your son's progenitorship of the state haphazardly help him to carry on. God send your son safe home to you. High Moon. You're eye to my moon.

What's up Laurel canyon, hay.
What is up in Laurel Canyon the seat of the beat to greet and eat at the heart of their companion way. That's up Laurel Canyon.
And what is up the Canyon will even eventually come down.

Strike up the band brother hand me another bowl of your soul.
Brother has a long way to go
maybe baby should know his cotton mouth is too slow for the song of the forgotten South,
just don't hang us up here.

Step by step by please though proletarian am I.
By chance am you "wine git out de way o'de darkies.
You'd better hustle up a storm to sing this Caucasian lullaby.
Sleep oh my darling now sleep.

Draw freehand over Iron Curtain.
Stalk up on the trim bamboo.
To footridge the bullrushes certain to know law, American express.
No Caucasian flair for flim-flam will do.
Step by please step by.

Weigh the small advance.
There is still a chance.
Let's assume that we form a company men.
No mention should the pass in revue of the show. Just understand that I prefer to be dead than red white or blue as I write sturdy crew.
As you view these few Russians whose true dawn came to view long ago.
So I think that you'd better strike up the band brother hand me another bowl of your soul.
The song of the forgotten South just don't hang us up here.
Here the unknown is at hand and not far from my heel a tarbaby feel for the Czar.
For those who are lonely well the Black sea is callin' Georgia's Stalin has fallen so you all come here.
We now are near to the end.
If you stay with the show say we all had to go to hasten to jar the few nations too far gone to step by.