Oh, the pretty little girl on Easter's Day,
By a bright center fountain, consented to play.
Held an Easter star very close to her heart.
Stepping back from the fountain so as not to be
Harmed by the spray. There she did play.
Told a toy rabbit to smile for a poor man's child.
Can also be loved by a rain from above this main spray.
And the soldiers on leave from the ship, Genevieve,
With their all-shining b***ons and newly pressed sleeves.
Taking pictures that day of the Easter Parade.
They stood watching the clowns who were
Gathered about pretty girls.
Now watching them swirl. Told one another to laugh.
May they live to forget all the memories of debts.
Swirling leaves seen from the ship, Genevieve.
Nobody sees but Queen Merka and me.
And she's sitting beneath a tree.
Eighty-sixth street, eleven P.M.
In the evenin' tide.
And the little, girl hippie, the queen of virginity,
Says, for her lover, she has an affinity.
Her hair swings with ease, it trips in the breeze.
She comes to the fountain and says, "If you'd, please,
Move around. I should like to sit down."
Painting her mind with a flask, readjusting her mask.
She's a virgin queen who's done everything and a bit more.
And the great stone Tash [2] heeder the childless, white feeder.
He walks with his boyfriend on into the spray.
Saying, "I love you, babe."
Walking down towards the pavement and locking, embracing,
As though to say, "I don't care." I love him more than her.
He makes his way down to the center of town,
Where a fountain of lore repeats words of his thoughts,
Showing love is not wrong.
Nobody sees but Queen Merka and me.
And she's sitting beneath a tree.
Eighty-sixth street, eleven P.M.
In the evenin' tide.
And the dirty, old man, he whiles out the day.
He's a permanent fixture, a sidewalk display.
He's got very strange habits, like making passes,
And he smiles with his dentures as the fountain spray
Passes his crown. It's all part of the merry-go-'round.
Thinks of them that's behind, sort of wishing that life
Would be a bit more fair, as he's losing his hair.
There goes his s** appleal. And what of the fountain?
Oh, it overflows. Drowning all the people,
In their best Easter clothes.
Laughingly, knowingly, it's unifying,
All of the people a**ured they were dying, tethered.
Found my water together. The city's together at last
But the moment is past. They all walk away,
Far from the spray. Going their separate ways.
Nobody sees but Queen Merka and me.
And she's sitting beneath a tree.
Eighty-sixth street, eleven P.M.
In the evenin' tide.
By a bright center fountain, consented to play.
Held an Easter star very close to her heart.
Stepping back from the fountain so as not to be
Harmed by the spray. There she did play.
Told a toy rabbit to smile for a poor man's child.
Can also be loved by a rain from above this main spray.
And the soldiers on leave from the ship, Genevieve,
With their all-shining b***ons and newly pressed sleeves.
Taking pictures that day of the Easter Parade.
They stood watching the clowns who were
Gathered about pretty girls.
Now watching them swirl. Told one another to laugh.
May they live to forget all the memories of debts.
Swirling leaves seen from the ship, Genevieve.
Nobody sees but Queen Merka and me.
And she's sitting beneath a tree.
Eighty-sixth street, eleven P.M.
In the evenin' tide.
And the little, girl hippie, the queen of virginity,
Says, for her lover, she has an affinity.
Her hair swings with ease, it trips in the breeze.
She comes to the fountain and says, "If you'd, please,
Move around. I should like to sit down."
Painting her mind with a flask, readjusting her mask.
She's a virgin queen who's done everything and a bit more.
And the great stone Tash [2] heeder the childless, white feeder.
He walks with his boyfriend on into the spray.
Saying, "I love you, babe."
Walking down towards the pavement and locking, embracing,
As though to say, "I don't care." I love him more than her.
He makes his way down to the center of town,
Where a fountain of lore repeats words of his thoughts,
Showing love is not wrong.
Nobody sees but Queen Merka and me.
And she's sitting beneath a tree.
Eighty-sixth street, eleven P.M.
In the evenin' tide.
And the dirty, old man, he whiles out the day.
He's a permanent fixture, a sidewalk display.
He's got very strange habits, like making passes,
And he smiles with his dentures as the fountain spray
Passes his crown. It's all part of the merry-go-'round.
Thinks of them that's behind, sort of wishing that life
Would be a bit more fair, as he's losing his hair.
There goes his s** appleal. And what of the fountain?
Oh, it overflows. Drowning all the people,
In their best Easter clothes.
Laughingly, knowingly, it's unifying,
All of the people a**ured they were dying, tethered.
Found my water together. The city's together at last
But the moment is past. They all walk away,
Far from the spray. Going their separate ways.
Nobody sees but Queen Merka and me.
And she's sitting beneath a tree.
Eighty-sixth street, eleven P.M.
In the evenin' tide.