the horned fox plays his sax

as people come and go,
the horned fox plays his sax
his ragged tail by his ragged black hat
filled with dollars or dimes
the horned fox plays his sax

morningtime
as children go by
on their way to school
rosy dimples, packed lunches,
and sweaters of wool,
the horned fox plays his sax

afternoons,
while the men
are in the factory
dazed or absorbed in
the perpetual struggle
of gear against gear
and dollar against dollar,
the horned fox plays his sax

nightimes,
when the moon instructs
lovers in their vital lessons
and murky absinthe
runs down the storm drains,
the horned fox plays his sax

he plays the blues
he plays the blacks;
he plays the rainbow on his sax

it's what he knows:
the ale and the wail,
the stops and goes,
the one thing he always did right