San Francisco, San Francisco, you're a muttering bum in a brown beet suit, can't make a womanon a rainy corner.Broken plastic coverlets flapping in the rain to cover newspapers all printed up in plain.Guys with big pockets and heavy topcoats and slit scar, headbands down the middle of theirhair, all Bruce Barton combed, Stan surveying Harrison, Folsom and the ramp, and the redbrick clock, wishing they had a woman of some money, honey.Westinghouse elevators are full of pretty girls with classy cans and cute pans and longsling legs and eyes for the boss at a quarter of four.Old age is an Indian with gray hair and a cane in an old coat, tapping along the rainystreet, the seated pretty oranges and the stores on his big day when the dogs let out.Praised be man, he is existing in milk and living in lilies.And his violin music takes place in milk and creamy emptiness.Praised be the unfolded inside petal, flesh of tenderous thought.Petrels on the follying wave valleys idly sing themselves asleep.Praised be delusion, the ripple.Praised be the holy ocean of eternity.Praised be I, writing, dead already and dead again.Dipped in acid inkle, the flammed of Tim.The Anglo-Oglo-Saxon maneuvers of old poetos.Praised be wood, it is milk.Praised be honey at the source.Praised be the embrace of soft sleep.The valor of angels and valleys of hell on earth below.Praised be the non-ending.Praised be the lights of earth man.Praised be the watchers.Praised be my fellow man.For dwelling in milk.And you know, in the ocean, there's a very sad turtle.Even though the SS mainline fish and ship is reeling in the merit like mad.Swims long-mouthed and sad.Looking for the impossible except once afternoon when the yoke,oh, the old booty yoke, set afloatin',is in the water where the turtle raises his be-watery snop to the sea.And the yoke yokes.The turtle of eternity.Tell me, oh Bikus, what are the chances of such a happening?For the turtle is old and the yoke free.And the seven oceans bigger than any we see in this tiny party.Chances are slender.In a million-million-billion-coteys of eons and incalculables, yes,the turtle will set that yoke free.But till then, harder yet are the chances for a man to be reborn a man in this karma earth.Subtitles by Subtitle Workshop