I’m stuck at home with a bottle of rum
An empty wallet and a pocket full of gum
A fistful of Christmas lights spark in my hand
And I wonder what I have to do to get you to understand
Photographic memories play in my mind
Of dismal distant damsels and their rotary signs
Strung out guitarists plug in their weapons
As a quartet of lords set up for their sessions
A distant string plucks a note that pulls through the night
Like a sleigh full of wishes burning in the twilight
The mystery spokesman for the big disappointment
Is present at the office for my dentist appointment
Stock broker lifelessness lodged into a trunk
Is found in the bottom of the sewers where it sunk
Pencil me in for a tentative visit
To the palm treed senselessness so that I can relive it
Dangerous psychics chill their tea with regret
As the murderous biker takes a seat and a check
I switch our jackets and take my leave
Because this is a place where I never asked to be.
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