Tekster: Decemberists. Picaresque. On The Bus Mall.

In matching blue raincoats our shoes were our show boats
We kicked around
From stairway to station we made a sensation
With the gadabout crowd

And oh, what a bargain we're two easy targets
For the old men at the off-tracks
Who've paid in palaver and crumpled old dollars
Which we squirreled away in our rat trap hotel by the freeway
And we slept-in Sundays

Your parents were anxious your cool was contagious
At the old school
You left without leaving a note for your grieving
Sweet mother, while your brother was so cruel
And here in the alleys your spirits were rallied

As you learned quick to make a fast buck
In bathrooms and barrooms on dumpsters and heirlooms
We bit our tongues sucked our lips into our lungs
Till we were falling such was our calling

And here in our hollow we fuse like a family
But I will not mourn for you
So take up your makeup and pocket your pills away

We're kings among runaways on the bus mall
We're down on the bus mall

Among all the urchins and old Chinese merchants of the old town
We reigned at the pool hall with one iron cue ball
And we never let the bastards get us down
And we laughed off the quick tricks the old men with limp dicks

On the colonnades of the waterfront park
As 4 in the morning came on, cold and boring we huddled close
In the bus stop enclosure enfolding our hands tightly holding

But here in our hollow we fuse like a family
But I will not mourn for you
So take up your makeup and pocket your pills away

We're kings among runaways on the bus mall
We're down on the bus mall
We're down on the bus mall
Down on the bus mall, oh ooh oh