Publisher's Synopsis
'With one night in a cheap motel over the bridgeand I knew it then in New Jersey Hoboken, having splashed our last few dollars on beer but Iwasn't drunk, looking out at all the worn faces just like mine, the charity in desperation, onlythe poor give, only the poor can truly love. The lost kiddies who walk that path with downslanted looks, their sloping walk, oh every child under this sun should be able to sing to hisheart's content, to lament his overbearing freedom, the disintegration of it all is all just amisinterpreted dream, everyone in their secret sadness wants nothing more than to just getalong, simply, uncomplicated...compassion and joy and love in all their heart's heaviness...howunbearable be the weight of an unfulfilled love. In the red morning mist of New Jersey, weawoke in the airport ready to board our flight, dreaming of England and her distant whiteshores'
