"The Fitzroy (Narration)" Sangtekst

"Years later in the 'Fitzroy'
Holding forth and blossoming words
The butterflies drawn to this flowering
Not differentiating the wisdom from the absurd
Experiencing again
The dizziness first felt in impressing the town lads
Now those
Who make up this city crowd
That laugh too loud
Or is it the comic's bow-tie?
The light bulb nose?

But this doubt passes
With the disappearing flock
Suddenly he's on his own
Looking into finished glasses
Or staring at the ceiling
As if to find a new line there
That will express (though full of beer)
The emptiness he's feeling.
Fumbling for loose change
Then heading for the door
Unsteadily
If the evening was a false lover
The night will be a whore.

He knows by now I follow him
He doesn't need to look
Though I'm still ready
To duck into doorways
Playing it by the book
Collar turned up brim pulled down.
It's raining now, the streets are mirror imaged
He moves in time to a poem he will write
Joined at the foot
With this earthbound reflection of himself
Not yet ready for flight
In a slip-shod-tap-room dance
We both know nothing will get written down tonight."