It was 1967. I was watching a TV show.
When the glowing screen went blank,
I looked out of my window.
I saw twenty seven crows
perched on my antenna.
In the glass a familiar face appeared,
a man whose name I don't remember.
Guess that mother's milk is dandy
when you're a little baby.
But as the wheels of time grind you down
you get a taste...for that stranger candy.
Then in December of '81. I saw my dear old friend John
fall down drunk at the Christmas parade with his children looking on.
His wife, she'd lost her mind. She was committed for a time.
She took refuge when they set her free,
in some weird Eastern philosophy.
Yes that mother's milk is dandy
when you're a little baby.
But as the wheels of time grind you down
you get a taste...for that stranger candy.
This life they say is hard, but still it's all you know.
You can close your eyes and try to run away,
but pray where will you go?
This life is all you know. Death is dark and strange.
It's the near and worrisome voice you hear,
forever calling out your name.
And as I was walking down the street a while back in Portland, Oregon,
I found the last of many keys I lost. I picked it up and I grinned.
For sometimes them crows take flight,
and if you can shoo them from your brain,
you might find yourself in the nick of time
calling the Devil by his name.
"Cause that mother's milk is dandy
when you're a little baby.
But as the wheels of time grind you down
you get a taste...for that stranger candy.
