Tom Waits: Nighthawk postcards

There's a blur drizzle down the plateglassAs a neon swizzle stick stirrin up the sultry night airAnd a yellow biscuit of a buttery cue ball moonRollin' maverick across an obsidian skyAs the busses go groanin' and wheezin',Down on the corner i'm freezin';On a restless boulevard at a midnight roadI'm across town from easy streetWith the tight knots of moviegoers and out of townersOn the strollAnd the buildings towering high aboveLit like dominoes or black diceAll the used car salesmen dressed up inPurina checkerboard slacksAnd foster grant wrap-around,Pacing in front of earl schleib$39.95 merchandiseLike barkers at a shootin' galleryThey throw out kind of a texas guinan routine"hello sucker, we like your moneyJust as well as anybody else's here"Or they give you the p.t. barnum bit"there's a sucker born every minuteYou just happened to be comin' along at the right time"Come over here nowYou know... all the harlequin sailors are on the strollIn a search of "like new," "new paint,"Decent factory air and am-fm dreamsAnd the piss yellow gypsy cabsStacked up in the taxi zones waitin' likePinball machinesTo be ticking off a joy ride to a magical placeWaitin' in line like "truckers welcome" dinersWith dirt lots full ofPeterbilts, kenworths, jimmy's and the like, andThey're hiballin' with bankrupt brakes, over drivenUnder paid, over fed, a day late and a dollar shortBut christ i got my lips around a bottle andMy foot on the throttle and i'm standin' on the cornerStandin' on the corner like a "just in town"Jasper, on a street corner with a gasper lookin'For some kind of cheshire billboard grinStroking a goateed chin, and using parking metersAs walking sticks on the inebriated strollWith my eyelids propped open at half mastBut you know... over at chubb's pool hall and snookerIt was a nickle after two, yea it was a nickle after twoAnd in the cobalt steel blue dream smoke, itWas the radio that groaned out the hit paradeAnd the chalk squeaked, the floorboards creakedAnd an olympia sign winked through a torn yellowShade, old jack chance himself leanin' up againstA wurlitzer and eyeballin' out a 5 ball combination shotImpossible you say? ...hard to believe?, perhapsOut of the realm of possibility? naaaaHe be stretchin' out long tawny fingers out across aCool green felt with a provocative golden gateAnd a full table railshot that's no sweat and i leanedUp against my bannister and wandered over to theWurlitzer and i punched a-2 i was lookin' forSomething like wine, wine, wine by the night capsStarring chuck e. weiss or high blood pressureBy george (cryin' in the streets) perkins - no dice"that's life," that's what all the people say ridin' highIn april, seriously shot down in may, but i know i'mGonna change that tune when i'm standing underneathA buttery moon that's all melted off to one sideIt was just about that time that the sunCame crawlin' yellow out of a manholeAt the foot of 23rd streetAnd a dracula moon in a black disguiseWas making its way back to itsPre-paid room at the st. moritz hotel (scat)And the el train came tumblingAcross the trestles and it soundedLike the ghost of gene krupaWith an overhead cam and glasspacksAnd the whispering brushes of wet radialsOn a wet pavement and there's aTraffic jam session on belmont tonightAnd the rhapsody of the pendingEvening, i leaned up againstMy bannister and i've been lookingFor some kind of an emotionalInvestment with romantic dividendsKind of a physical negociationIs underwayAs i attempt to consolidate all myMissed weekly payments, intoOne-low-monthly paymentThrough the noseWith romantic residuals and leg akimboBut the chances are more than likely i'll probablyBe held over for another smashed weekend