More at the striped table lyrics

Artist  : Rickie lee jones 
Song : More at the striped table
 
Downtown I walk for about a mile in squares. there
were short and thick men behind bars.
They are never clean, these men. and their
dirtiness makes them objects of lust.
I think it’s religion that makes that possible.
or sex is simply dog eat dog,
And when we set our teeth into the submissive we
are aroused.
And when we have the opportunity to role on our
backs, with consciousness, willing, out of
costume, well,
Who would throw that ticket away. I would not. I
sat in the cool shadows of these men,
And my brain is a pimple train, of secret running
out of the left side of my eye
The more comes out the better I feel but where
does this stuff go? I watch the governmentworkers
eating.
I watch all the mexican people in their pretty
dresses with their children.
I think they think this is downtown in mexico.
they think this is just a city. don’t they know
what this is down here? 
So I run threads through the secret community of
them, and I am one of them now and no longer on
my knees.
There’s somebody named ivan and I saw him at a
party he’s the guy people said to stay away
from.
He put an armful of crank into me and before the
needle was out I was on the floor.
It wasn’t his fault really, he was just trying to
be a nice guy. everybody likes a big shot.

I had no clothes at all, no shoes. I like
parading , I liked walking around the empty city
after everyone was in their drugless beds. every
inch of concrete was mine. I could
Sit on any step. and all angry clouds were made
by me. I had been kicked out of hippy houses all
over seattle. the house on john street. 6th and
john. they had me
Sleeping on the roof out there. those guys in
their thirties who listened to jazz all the time.
the one was really nice. he argued with his room
mate to let me stay. I had no
Where to go. the other guy said he didn’t care.
I’d find somewhere. jesus, she’ll end up back at
ivans.

So the other room mate, he got in a hippy van
with all kinds of nicely dressed hippies. flowers
painted on the v.w., velvet, boots, the whole
thing. I wished I could be a girl
Like that. I was only fourteen, and no matter how
many people I fucked or shots I took or cars I got
into I just could not seem to have that power of
older. all I got was more
Used. not more big. I wished they’d invite me
with them. I wished I had friends, and nice
clothes, and a place to go. care free, but
rooted. when I ran away my family left the
Motel where we had lived in seal beach. I could
not find them now if I wanted to.

There had been ballet lessons, drama lessons.
a.a.u. swim team. I had taken modeling and I had
a guitar. I had percussion instruments. I never
had to do housework.
I had to babysit every night but my mom worked
and my dad was hardly around. I could go walking
around and go to peoples houses as I liked. but I
was not liked at
Home. no one liked any one there.

Under the freeway.
There are no signs of life.
The factories loom about her and in every shadow
are eyes.
And I n every eye is a strangers car.
Now she cowers beneath the freeway , a dragon,
and she counts the seconds
In long hand, on her fingers, until there are so
many of them that she cannot move them any more.
Time is about to stand still, as still as living
can stand, and it is stopping
Here beneath the belly of the dragon. but the
dragon is not stopping. he breathes
Furiously traffic above, steel and dangerous
fire, murderous, demeaning, a traffic to aspire
to.
Poncho comes in with a black eye and a hair cut.
he’s ready to dig up the floor