Sunday, 11 May 2014

Ghosts of Saturday Night

          A cab combs the snake tryin' to rake in that last night's fare
          And a solitary sailor, who spends the facts of his life like small change on strangers
          Paws his inside peacoat pocket for a welcome twenty-five cents
          And the last bent butt from a package of Kents
          As he dreams of a waitress with Maxwell House eyes
          And marmalade thighs with scrambled yellow hair
          Her rhinestone-studded moniker says 'Irene'
          As she wipes the whisps of dishwater from her eyes

Ghosts of Saturday Night
Tom Waits

Friends of Eddie Coyle

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