He was selling postcards from a paper stand
a whiskey bottle in his withered hand
he put a finger on a photo from an old magazine
and saw himself in the shadow of his dream
They found him with his head inside a tin-pot crown
told him his feet stank and took him downtown
called him agitator, spy and thief
shut him up in solitary third degree
take a long line, reel him in
He tried to appeal to the king of might
he said
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