the last time i saw richard was detroit in '68,
and he told me all romantics meet the same fate someday
cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe
‘you laugh,’ he said; ‘you think you're immune, go look at your eyes
they're full of moon
you like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you
all those pretty lies, pretty lies
when you gonna realise they're only pretty lies
only pretty lies, just pretty lies.’
he put a quarter in the wurlitzer, and he pushed
three buttons and the thing began to whirr
and a bar maid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie
and she said "drink up now it's gettin' on time to close."
"richard, you haven't really changed," i said
“it's just that now you're romanticizing some pain that's in your head
you got tombs in your eyes, but the songs
you punched are dreaming
listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet
when you gonna get yourself back on your feet?
oh and love can be so sweet, love so sweet”
richard got married to a figure skater
and he bought her a dishwasher and a coffee percolator
and he drinks at home now most nights with the tv on
and all the house lights left up bright
i'm gonna blow this damn candle out
i don't want nobody comin' over to my table
i got nothing to talk to anybody about
all good dreamers pass this way some day
hidin' behind bottles in dark cafes
dark cafes
only a dark cocoon before i get my gorgeous wings
and fly away
only a phase, these dark cafe days
