| Lyrics: | Charlie Freak had but one thing to call his own:
Three weight ounce pure golden ring, no
precious stone.
Five nights without a bite, no place to lay his head.
And if nobody takes
him in he'll soon be dead.
On the street he spied my face, I heard him hail;
In our
plot of frozen space he told his tale.
Poor man, he showed his hand, so righteous was his
need.
And me so wise, I bought his prize for chicken feed.
New found cash soon begs
to smash a state of mind;
Close inspection fast revealed his favourite kind.
Poor kid, he
overdid, embraced the spreading haze.
And while he sighed his body died in fifteen
ways.
When I heard I grabbed a cab to where he lay;
'Round his arm the plastic tag
read D.O.A.
Yes, Jack, I gave it back, the ring I could not own.
Now come, my friend, I'll
take your hand and lead you home.
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