Mohawk, New York
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Standing 'neath the harbor house
The stars are dripping down
Your mind, oh, your blouse
Are darkening cannery town
I'm a psychedelic on the railroad red Erie Canal
The serrated town of Mohawk, those engines are my only pal
They're made of tin, they fall right in
But they do know
And that is why I say
"Darling, I had not even
Seen your eyes, but now I know
They are charcoal, they're not brown
The sounds are lustful, I should know"
Standing neath the harbor house
Your mind is melting on me
And a doo-wop singing barbershop-fop
Melting now is all you see
They mean nothing
Oh, they mean nothing at all