This guy lies on the concrete
Whatever the wail may be he
Repeats himself, "Somebody help me
"Oh god, somebody help me"
Prone beside the Chase-Manhattan
Automated Teller Machine he lies
Face to the ground and palm to the sky
Why recognize that his torments
Are more performance than pain
Which cease when he has a newspaper
And reads like a man on his living room floor
Before returning to the lie
Face to the ground and palm to the sky