Lyrics:

He was selling postcards from a paper standa whiskey bottle in his withered handhe put a finger on a photo from an ol
d magazineand saw himself in the shadow of his dreamThey found him with his head inside a tin-pot crowntold him his feet st
ank and took him downtowncalled him agitator, spy and thiefshut him up in solitary third degreetake a long line, reel him in
He tried to appeal to the king of mighthe said