Tell it to the judge, man
Tell it to your motherless reflection
In a sock and one shoe
After the great defection
He said, «tell a lie sometimes, tell the truth
When it suits you, and when you’ve lost your way
Tell a story.»
Tell your story, tell it, tell it
Tell your story to anyone who’ll listen
Tell your story, don’t stop talking
Just tell your story walking
Listing through Carol Gardens
On the way to Cobble Hill
I stopped by a psychic’s dusty, wilted windowsill
Forgot what she told me, mostly
But I remember one thing she said
«You may slip and call some lousy fuck your friend
But in the end you’ll come out even
Then, tell your story.»
And it’s a sorry, frightful thing
When you want to cry, but you can’t keep from laughing
Outside the church that’s so quiet it dares you to shout
You put a hand to your mouth to stop the rain
You do a St. Vitus dance, to the sky you raise your voice
This is your chance, you have no choice
You tell your story