yea, that's the story of the hurricane

you raise up your head and ask "is this where it is?" | and somebody points to you and says
"it's his"
and you say "what's mine?" | and somebody else says
"where what is?"
and you say "oh my god
am i here all alone?"
because something is happening here
but you don't know what it is
do you, mister jones?

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood | With his memories in a trunk | Passed this way an hour ago With his friend, a jealous monk | He looked so immaculately frightful | As he bummed a cigarette | Then he went off sniffing drainpipes | And reciting the alphabet | Now you would not think to look at him | But he was famous long ago | For playing the electric violin | On Desolation Row