| Late at night,
|
| when reality’s failed and nothing is prevailing but the wind,
|
| I come to you.
|
| Out of sight,
|
| like a fugitive trailing across a barren land, you let me in,
|
| you always do.
|
| My reason is caught by a sudden gust
|
| of lateral thought that sweeps me
|
| far beyond,
|
| it’s the opium of the night.
|
| And the ocean of words
|
| that we throw in the air
|
| grows more absurd
|
| and nobody seems to care,
|
| it’s a refugee’s respite.
|
| Cafe Society.
|
| Late at night,
|
| while the city lies sleeping and solitude is keeping me awake,
|
| I think of you.
|
| Dim your lights,
|
| oh, I want to sink deep in that river of oblivion you make,
|
| I need it, too.
|
| Let me check-in my mind
|
| with my coat at the door,
|
| 'cause I want to go flying
|
| where I’ve never been before,
|
| some inviting.
|
| If the hand that you hold
|
| in the dead of the night
|
| is a little too cold,
|
| the body seems just right,
|
| it’s a.
|
| Cafe Society.
|
| [Sound of footsteps walking along a street. |
| A pause, the footsteps take two
|
| steps up a short flight of stairs. |
| Five knocks, a door opens, a coctail party
|
| is heard in the background, and a semi-snobbish voice says, «Excuse me, sir,
|
| are you a member?"]
|
| One, two, three.
|
| That’s how elementary
|
| it’s gonna be.
|
| Just fine and dandy,
|
| it’s easy,
|
| like taking candy from a baby.
|
| >From the poor country,
|
| when you bought a rose, you
|
| paid them with beads,
|
| tipped the general,
|
| it’s easy,
|
| like taking candy from a baby.
|
| The hard part is learning about it,
|
| the hard part is breaking through to the truth.
|
| The hard part is learning to doubt
|
| what you read, what you hear, what you see on the news.
|
| Foriegn policy,
|
| made above my head, well,
|
| no one asked me.
|
| They just laughed and said
|
| it’s easy,
|
| like taking candy from a baby.
|
| It’s easy,
|
| like taking candy from a baby.
|
| Once they get you sucked into the system,
|
| once they get you under control,
|
| the hard part is knowing how to resist
|
| the grip that they keep on your mind and your soul.
|
| So in the end,
|
| we just compromise,
|
| and pretend.
|
| If you close your eyes,
|
| it’s easy,
|
| like taking candy from a baby.
|
| 9. The Candidate
|
| Inside the lonely building
|
| sits the candidate.
|
| His speech is typed and ready,
|
| the hundred-dollar plates
|
| sit on deserted tables,
|
| beneath flourescent lights.
|
| But no one comes to hear him,
|
| no cheers disturb the night.
|
| So where are all the voters?
|
| Where the voter’s wives?
|
| They’ve all gone to the movies
|
| trying to understand their lives.
|
| The candidate is slipping
|
| into some dream of old,
|
| not noticing around him
|
| a thousand rubber chickens going cold. |