Went up to the ticket gate but the ticket taker was running late.
He fell upon an early fate but the show it goes on.
The town organ grinder watched feet upon the moon
listened to promises of kindness that ended all too soon.
Beyond 5th Ave, executives play with revenues
while a man searches for a new saloon.
To raise a toast and wink an eye.
Because now these wings are rusted
and the Iron Bird won’t fly.
And the lawmen they look down upon
the hungry town they frown upon.
Writing words to legislate,
making deals in back rooms.
And the salesmen now are Governors
who point fingers at young mothers.
Tear babies from their arms.
Slowly raising the blade
washing their hands of any harm.
And the ragman’s son he wonders now.
Turns to wave goodbye.
Because now these wings are rusted
and the Iron Bird won’t fly.
Copyright TMB 2004
