The Breadline at St. John's
I used to stand in the breadline
Where they sang choral works of mine
It might have been embarrassing
But my mind was not right
I saw the organist staring
But then he slipped out of sight
Saturday mornings I went down
The stairs and out to stand
There in my loved and lost hometown
With people who understand
Like when I stood with my Love sign
Days with homeless homies of mine
Those were the people I chose
Knowing they understood me and
Would show me how it goes
I had been of the bourgeoisie
In the breadline at St. John's on
Saturdays until I was gone
Love ya!
Jane