I heard somebody yelling,
It was just a drunken hobo
dancing circles in the night
Pouring whiskey on the headstones
where these homeless brothers go
Down in some hidden valley
where their sorrows cannot show
Where the police cannot find them,
where the wanted man can go
even though you're walking slow.
Smash your bubble on the gravestone
That homeless brother is my friend.
It's hard to be a pack rat,
But living's so much harder
where the heartless people go
Somewhere the dogs are barking
and the children seem to know
And they hear the holy silence
of the temples in the hill
And they see the ragged tatters
as another kind of thrill
And they envy him the sunshine
and they pity him the chill
And they're sad to do their living
for another kind of thrill
Smash your bowl on the gravestone
That homeless brother is my friend
Somewhere there was a woman
Somewhere there was a child
Somewhere there was a cottage
Where the marigolds grew wild
But somewhere's just like nowhere
When you leave it for a while
You'll find a broken heart
When you're traveling jungle style
Down the bowels of a broken land
Where numbers live like men
Where those who keep their senses
Have them taken back again
Where the nights do cracks with
Where madmen don't pretend
Where wealth has no beginning
Smash a bottle on a gravestone
That homeless brother is my friend.
The ghosts of highway royalty
have vanished in the night.
The Whitman wandered walking
towards a glowing inner light.
The children have grown older
and the cops have gripped us tight
There's no spot round the melting pot
for free men in their flight
and prosper as you please
The victim of your riches
often dies of your disease
He can't hear the factory whistle,
just a lonesome freight train's wheels
He's living on good fortune,
he ain't dying on his knees
Smash your bottle on the gravestone
That homeless brother is my friend
Smash your bubble on the gravestone
That homeless brother is my friend.
That homeless brother is my friend.
That homeless brother is my friend.
