HAPPY DAYS (made this when i was sleeping) June 1st. 1966

There was an Old House, painted brown;
Close by the graveyard, north of town;
Where they corraled the BOYS to sell THEIR HAPPY DAYS, for the Gates to Hell!

And, I had a PAL, in days gone by;
He lays there now, beneath that sky;
He can LEAVE HIS GRAVE, now anytime,
And WALK to the Whorehouse, feeling fine!

At school he told the girls a tale,
How at night it CARRIED HIS DINNERPAIL,
When he walked Home; the girls would listen;
No wonder he WON them all…FOR HISEN!

These girls are gone, and so is he;
Only this ornery song, and me
Can be here now, and memory brings
Back all the songs that summer sings
Of birds and frogs and rolling streams
For the way to SCHOOL, was a path of dreams!

And you can get this song from me
For nothing now…. and… SUDDENLY
If you will turn your RADIO DOWN,
You can hear him “TAPPING” underground!
And I am sure it is that kid, and the tapping
Is on the coffin lid!

The wind blows on across the vale;
He walks no more, with his dinnerpail!
And still Old Friend, if we could meet
Again, some day, on a Redfield Street,
Just you and me…. HOW GLAD WE”D BE……
And we’d be there by the Old Shack
OF HOME! And…the YOUNG GIRLS COME BACK! alone

And it still stands there, by the edge of town,
That damn old house, and painted brown;
But now no BOYS ever come to sell
Their HAPPY DAYS, for THE GATES OF HELL!