The gypsy read my fingers,
she traced my love line's fall
I asked her how my life looked;
she felt no pulse at all
I offered up my twenty
and I thanked her for the time
but she refused to take a dollar
from a man on the decline
I once was on the other side
of the wall from which I stand,
Upon it was my name,
as the owner of this land
Now, scraps are all I ask for
from the table which you dine,
at the feast of opportunity
for a man on the decline
Everything seems possible
to a man without woes
But understand, they've got no time
to care about their foes
Or maybe what is lacking
is a light bulb's radiant shine
To understand that everyone
is the man on the decline
The gypsy read my fingers,
she traced my love line's fall
I asked her how my life looked;
she felt no pulse at all