How to Find Love in a Place Like This

Dear Mr. Eliot, I've found the Wasteland
It took a hundred years but it came at last
Didn't come from without
But it came from within
How to find love in a place like this

Sodom, D.C. or Gomorrah, Los Angeles
My tower of corpses is made of ivory
From the very tip-top
I can look down and see
All of my citizens who are less than me

Prancin' on your grave, a big parade
That love is gone and I'm the one to blame
The Poet has died and the songs are all the same
And we ain't got a clue

Dear Mr. Cohen, I've lost my romance
It's whittled away over decades past
And all that is left
Is my heart turned black
How am I supposed to write a poem with that?

Tell me what we gained when we gave up the myth
No meaning to pain, no reason for bliss
What was a mistake?
The Enlightenment
How to find love in a place like this

Prancin' on your grave, a big parade
That love is gone and I'm the one to blame
The Poet has died and the songs are all the same
And we ain't got a clue

Dear Mr. Dylan, your time is fleeting
The world keeps changing as you are leaving
Not for the better
From what I can see
I don't even know if the youth can bleed

The zealots are marching and they invent sins
They erect new gods and then eat them
It seems like the end
Is about to begin
How to find love in a place like this

Prancin' on your grave, a big parade
That love is gone and I'm the one to blame
The Poet has died and the songs are all the same
And we ain't got a clue

Prancin' on your grave, a big parade
That love is gone and I'm the one to blame
The Poet has died and the songs are all the same
And we ain't got a clue