just across from the hospital still in sight of the red lights a couple blocks from the orthodox church that's where the old poet lived in his eyeglasses and his necktie at the window looking down on the young men passing by on the fullness of the town
full of them good time gamblers full of their restless wives full of them midnight writers out in the quarter on a friday night out in the brightness of a friday night
and the big horns blowed and the pianos played and the music rose to the old man's ears I guess those were the olden days I guess those were the golden years
and now the town is empty empty as a mirror empty as the harbor and the barber's chair where did the old poet go? I asked around n**ody knows
maybe I came too early maybe I came too late I'm waiting in the shadows of the scaffolds of the old cafés where you told me to wait and I've got this lingering feeling it's like I've slipped between fingers of the century I know you know what I mean
I'll be a good time gambler I'll be a restless wife I'll be a midnight writer out in the quarter on a friday night call me a good time gambler call me a restless wife call me a midnight writer out in the quarter on a friday night out in the brightness of a friday night call me the brightness of a friday night