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Lyrics: 184912




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Phil Ochs Pleasures of the Harbor
Album Viewed
All the News That's Fit to Sing (1964) 3375
I Ain't Marching Anymore (1965) 3665
Phil Ochs in Concert (1966) 2741
Pleasures of the Harbor (1967) 2371
Tape From California (1968) 1870
Greatest Hits (1970) 2586
A Toast to Those Who Are Gone (1987) 3047
The Broadside Tapes 1 (1989) 3716
There and Now: Live in Vancouver (1990) 3119
Live at Newport (1996) 2779
Lyric Viewed
Outside Of A Small Circle Of Friends 255
I've Had Her 254
Miranda 280
Pleasures of the Harbor 293
Crucifixion 300
Cross My Heart 238
Flower Lady 428
The Party 211
Flower Lady


G C G C G G C G
Millionaires and paupers walk the hungry streets
C G D
Rich and poor companions of the restless beat
Bm C
Strangers in a foreign land
Bm C
Strike a match with trembling hand
Bm Em C
Learn too much to ever understand
D C D G C G
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Lover's quarrel, snarl away their happiness
Kissed crumble in a web of lonliness
It's written by the poison pen
Voices break before they bend
The door is slammed
It's over, once again
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Poets agonize, they cannot find the words
And the stone stares at the sculptor asks ";are you absurd?";
The painter paints his brushes back
Through the canvas runs a crack
Portrait of the pain never answers back
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Soldiers, disillusioned, come home from the war
Sarcastic students tell them not to fight no more
And they argue through the night
Black is black and white is white
Walk away both knowing they are right
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Smoke dreams of escaping souls are drifting by
Dull the pain of living as they slowly die
Smiles change into a sneer
washed away by whiskey tears
In the quicksand of their mind they disappear
Still nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Feeble, aged, people almost to their knees
Complain about the present using memories
Never found their pot of gold
Wrinkled hands pound weary holes
Each line screams out you're old, you're old, you're old
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

And the flower lady hobbles home without a sale
Tattered shreds of petals leave a fading trail
Not a pause to hold a rose
Even she no longer knows
The lamp goes out the evening now is closed
And nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady



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