A song that could be sung by a Thomas Pynchon character

Johnny Hawkeye, a linguist and human oubliette, to the tune of some old nostaligic song from his childhood, began to sing:

I wonder when
The sun will rise
upon the day
when I will
climb onto the
shore from this
wet town this
ocean village where
I am drowned

I wonder when
people will see
there is a place
for those who pee
upon the cars
they do not own

is that not what
this life is for?

I've been away
and I've been home
but I don't know
which way I've gone

At darkest night
in midday sun
I see the stars
and songs don't come

I feel the creak
of years gone by

but less and less
as time goes by

No I don't know
but I do know this
as I grow on
feel less and less

Am less and less

As suddenly as he had begun, Johnny stopped. The auditorium was empty, the building scheduled for demolition, no crowds would ever fill these seats again. Johnny had sung his bad poetry out to an empty room, an invisible audience, lost in time, neither recorded nor written down, extemporaneous, off the cuff, improvised, incomplete.

Perfect, thought Johnny.

He was, as usual, more often than not, wrong wrong wrong.