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