Roy Harper Same Shoes
I see pictures of the porsche Smashed and twisted out of shape Hanging in offices To match up with the drape And posters of him In boutiques where they couldn't know The styles they're in Belong to him And he died thirty years ago Same shoes She became the way to look They thought that they could freeze While a hundred million men Had fantasies And without a word said And non to be understood Those nervous laughs In photographs Have captured loneliness for good But how could she refuse The girl who pouted scarlet lips And stood for high-heel shoes Same shoes I once was in Havana With dollars in my pants Where I met an old man Who was cleaning shoes for cents I said "Can I ask How it is, how you're getting on? It must be strange In all this change And how's the revolution?" He said "Same shoes"
