On these same brick streets
Of Baltimore tonight
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Afraid of the fluorescent eyes of dogs
The raven's reflection, the rats scat
Through sawdust in Hollins Market
A smell of rot and burlap thick as fur
Afraid of roaches, disease of poverty
Loud poverty boom-box crackle crack whip
Poor ponies pulling carts full of greens
Up Greene Street, overloaded with greed
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Afraid of the thick sky over foggy tavern door
On Cross Street's cloud-draped rummaged crimson cloak
Threading from the hill down to the curling dark water bay
Afraid of statues with iron poet capes flowing
In formal rapture and cast hollow spirit
Looking down cold upon those animated
Walking and talking past old doorways
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Afraid of the wine, the drugs, the vault
Of alcoholic shoreline's fractal ragged fault
Floating in a dream grave afraid to yell
Smug disciples repeating versions of hell
The whirl of a wash, a tangled thread
Sets an alarm that turns to dread
Makes the vision flow instead into
Creation and how such grace is fed
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Was Poe afraid
Life is a poor host grabbing guests who came
Swirling great pleated sheets wrapping the stars
Leaving, streaming party coils to their last cars
Some on twilight's slightly twisted cane