David Bowie - Eight line poem

^DTactful cactus by your ^Dwindow ^DSurvey the prairie of your ^Droom ^DMobile spins to its ^Acollision ^BClara puts her head between her ^Dpaws ^DThey've opened shops down on the ^Dwestside ^DWill all the cacti find a ^Dhome? ^DBut the key to the ^Bcity Is in the ^Dsun that pins the ^Asus4branches to the ^Dsky ^DOh...^Doh