No tongue in the bell
  and the fishwives yell
  but they might as well be mute
  so you get to keep the pictures
  that don’t seem like much
  cold white keys under your fingers
  now you’re thinking
  “that’s no substitute
  it just don’t do it
  like the song of a warm, warm body
  loving your touch”
  in the court they carve your legend
  with an apple in its jaw
  and the women that you wanted
  they get their laughs
  long silk stockings
  on the bedposts of refinement
  you’re too raw
  they think you’re too raw
  it’s the judgement of the moon and the stars
  your solitary path
  draw yourself a bath
  think what you’d like to have
  for supper
  or take a walk
  a park
  a bridge
  a tree
  a river
  revoked but not yet cancelled
  the gift goes on
  in silence
  in a bell jar
  still a song
  you’ve got to shake your fists at lightning now
  you’ve got to roar like forest fire
  you’ve got to spread your light like blazes
  all across the sky
  they’re going to aim the hoses on you
  show them you won’t expire
  not till you burn up every passion
  not even when you die
  come on now
  you’ve got to try
  if you’re feeling contempt
  well then you tell it
  if you’re tired of the silent night
  Jesus, well then you yell it
  condemned to wires and hammers
  strike every chord that you feel
  that broken trees
  and elephant ivories
  conceal