Years ago, my friend Bob worked Pacific Ocean Park, as a knife-wielding spook-house clown, and ran a booth with a bingo-playing chicken, shocked by jolts from concealed electric grids,
He has since repented,
He's the cook and the owner at a roadside greasy-spoon diner,
If you're down on your luck Bob will feed you without charge and treat you to some magic tricks,
Says his dearest friend he calls, "The Ghost" worked in a luggage factory,
He was fired when they claimed his work was oblique and unsatisfactory,
"He's missing," Bob says, "branded as a spy, but I prefer to believe he's still working on the sly."

I've heard he's playing at an organ bar,
I supposed I'm in denial,
I dream that patrons crowd this organ bar,
Expecting my arrival.

Gloria's nineteen,
Was an L.A. whore who worked the south end of Sunset boulevard,
Found in an alley in a drug-induced coma behind a Dunkin' Donuts,
She says she left her body on the hospital table and she hovered over it for a while,
She was bathed in light and a voice said, "Gloria, you've still got some work to do"
She awoke to a religious nut screaming on the TV, strange words that made some sorta sense,
And as she prayed, this spectre seeped through the spaces in the hospital heating vents,
And then it disappeared, but to this day she swears it stole her heart away.

She found him playing at the organ bar,
She says she goes there for survival,
Says I can reach her at the organ bar,
The number's in the Bible.

I'm successfully concealed behind my pork pie hat, fake beard, and dark sunglasses,
Convinced them I've authored several supernatural thrillers, doing research for my latest book.
And as the sun goes down, a shadow is cast across Bob's drawn and troubled face,
He rubs his eyes, I leave but my shadow doesn't follow; it's fond of Bob's hot joe,
And every shadow in my suitcase is restless now and each of them would prefer to remain, and they all have a different little slant on life and they all answer to my name,
And it would be nice if they found a home, but that won't happen 'til my cover's blown.

I've been working at the organ bar,
The customers all love my style,
They say I'm master of the organ bar,
But me, I'm looking for revival.