You haven't found it yet,

Haven't found it yet.

Look at the glass, turn your head

You haven't found it yet.

Murmur down the line, inside

It's flashy Camden Town

It's that London lyric again

You haven't found it yet.

Impulses crowd your head

Too much to be absorbed

You're into the jackal mental

Saw down of your head.*

Which bemoans a simple fact.

You haven't found it yet.

It seemed so clear in bed

It starts with your legs, they are dead

Your pen is entombed in mattress

You're not going to get it yet

You haven't found it yet

You're dying but still warm

Put this writing on your tomb

Spit out your dying breath

You haven't found it yet.

I dictate

Transcribe

Relations

Dear Cousin

It's destiny.

[mumbling at end.]

[ MES explains this lyric in a Q magazine article: He was referring to a

scientific diagram of the head and its component parts. --Ed.]