Ben Folds Doc Pomus
Man in a wheelchair in the lobby of the Forrest With frighters, hustlers, hard-up millionaires
Mobsters, cops, whores, pimps and Marxists All human life is there
Man in a wheelchair listens to the chatter Writes down all the insane crap he hears
He can't move around but it doesn't really matter In the Forrest all you need is eyes and ears
And out they pour, the hits and misses Turn Me Loose, Lonely Avenue And down in Nashville Elvis sings Suspicion Pomus/Shuman, 1962
And he never could be one of those happy cripples The kind that smile and tell you life's OK
He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter He found a way to make his feelings pay
Back at the Forrest, in the steakhouse off the lobby Another diner gets three bullets in the head
Doc looks down and carries on eating his linguine Tries to think up a lyric for the dead
Fred Neil, Jack Benny, and crazy Phil Spector Pumpkin Juice and Eydie Gormé Damon Runyon Jr. and the Duke's orchestra All superhuman life was there
And he never could be one of those happy cripples The kind that smile and tell you life's OK He was mad as hell, frightened and bitter He found a way to make his isolation pay
