In the pet shop district.
Stands an old burnt tenement.
Went up in flames in 69, abandoned ever since.
A silhouette unknown,
can be seen up on the roof.
They say he lives alone among ambient multitudes.
Science hatched him from an egg.
He's an E.T. left behind.
Inhuman reproduction left to starve alone and die.
On that 88th street.
People still speak of his name.
Feeling eerie as they look around for a sign of something strange.
Woh-ho! Woh-ho!
The ballad of the Pigeon Man
He's a human bird hyrbid.
Some say he has a beak.
Some say he's lived so long on eating only worms and leaves.
So leave the beast alone.
His twisted world of peace.
Is not one understood by your sick-sad society.
For every bird a ring.
For every ring a string.
With solemn breath and a heavy chest, the birdman took a leap.
He was flying toward the sun.
What a wonder to the eye.
To this day his spirit haunts the streets long after his goodbye.
Woh-ho! Woh-ho!
The ballad of the Pigeon Man
Sick World. Strange Land.
The ballad of the Pigeon Man.