\"Fresh Pretzel, Get Your Fresh Pretzel!
Punchclock people
Rush across cobblestone streets
Lined with trolley tracks.
William Penn perches atop City Hall.
Reading wantads on a damp wooden bench.
Stuffed belongings
In mother\'s \"telling\" birthday gift
Two blue suitcases.
Left home, never going back!
Felt like just another plate
At the kitchen table.
Sofasurfing at seventeen.
\"Fresh Pretzel, Get Your Fresh Pretzel!\"
A voice in my ear,
The Pretzel Man smiling,
\"Young Lady you look like you need
A fresh pretzel today.\"
He gave me one,
Smeared with yellow mustard
Just the way I like it.
\"Have a good day,\" he says.
Punchclock people
Rush across cobblestone streets
Lined with trolley tracks.
Pretzel Man hawking,
\"Fresh Pretzel, Get Your Fresh Pretzel!\"