West Of Rome

West of Rome, just east of the border In a static-y Ramada Inn Polishing his boots and pummeling his liver Steeped in the dark isolation Just what business does he have around here? Credentials are wearing out with each little bit of cheer Yes, it's a bad scene we're convening Brushing his teeth and milking his ulcer Preparing to waste another wily morning Stroking himself and then phoning up his sister He tells her their life would make one whale of a movie Yes, a childhood full of dry goods and wet neglect The father they sponge off, they have no absorbing respect Yes, he's a glad boy to have, to have such a void Yes, he's a martyr crawling across cobble stones And from his cozy cottages just west of Rome It's a sad state for great suffering