Eight Line Poem
David Bowie

C, F
The tactful cactus by your window
C, F
Surveys the prairie of your room
C, D
The mobile spins to its collision
E, F
Clara puts her head between her paws

C, F
They've opened shops down the Westside
C, F
Will all the cacti find a home
C, E
But the key to the city is in the sun
F, D, G
That pins the branches to the sky 

F C