(Don Breithaupt)

It’s a form of suicide
To be lost in thought
Would you even know if you had died
Likely not
You drift down to 53rd
With your shifty smile
And your pirate style
But you’re not
A classic hero from a classic film, no
You’re only you alone

So there’s money in your pocket
But you can’t buy a thrill
Time stands still
And you’re standing next to naked
In this holy harbor chill
And the mini skirts fly
Like flags at half-mast
You got a new name
But your game is half-assed
They’re looking through you
You’re on your own
It’s nine o’clock Friday
And you’re going home

Nothing kills a summer’s day
Like a crying jag
If you’ve got the will to run away
Better pack your bags
The great purge of ’82
Left you half-alive
Now you haunt this dive
A dreamer
Still dictating on your Dictaphone, uh oh
It looks like you are gone

Are you remembering the audio?