The name of the rose

A lawyer is sweeping up the streets
Tidying the law suits away
He's leaving sentences down alleys
And finding evidence on motorways

And the judge is cleaning windows
Pronouncing all that is clean
As he wipes the soot from the slates
Drops the columns from a magazine

To the journalist who is always talking
In the cafes and the bars
To million dollar shoe shiners
Who have just parked their sports cars

And in between the sparkling gems
Of phineas Fogg who just stayed home
Are the television dinner house wives
Who are jetsetting around the world

And dogs who think that they are cats
Go chasing down the crows
Who know already that they are dogs
And have been lying down in the road

And it all boils down to the top
Which falls out the bottom of the bag
That the street cleaner found in his paper cup
As he signs another writ in the daily rag

Who knows who these people are
I'm damned if I should know
It's not up to me anyway
To adjudicate a dog from a crow

And even if I see them with my eyes
Can I smell them with my nose
Will I call a spade a spade
Or call another the name of the rose