Jonathan Beale

Semisonic Closing time

 

Drifting into this: slower, slower…,

World – here, in this obscure

Subculture we live and breathe

Free of your 9 – 5.  The traffic jams

Never that far from your nose.

See me shuffling down Virginia

Avenue in these old shoes

In this midnight lullaby’s postcard dream.

Sleeping here and there

From the back of street bars

Occasionally woken by the piano

Player playing for beer and cigarettes.

Behind his sunglasses

His frontage knowing

Closing time brings him an end

To another day

As the night rolls out

The bar throws out

Into the ever longer

I pass by your window

As the last night bus

All life goes on – bars open again.

Now I’m smoking cigarettes
And I strive for purity
And I slip just like the stars
Into obscurity

 

Grapefruit Moon Tom Waits

 

 

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