My test of a good novel is dreading to begin the last chapter.
Thomas Helm
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No Joy in Mudville
Last night I dreamt that I was you
I was dressed all in black with dark glasses and attitude
Such a pose I could simply not hold
Through days in a northern town that I had once called a home
And your studies of fringe New York Streets
I was reading the pavement in every word you would speak
To a "brownstone up three flights of stairs" and it's on...
Buying drinks for the poets upstate
The southern corruption tows you down the interstate
And they all said that you were the king
Of a gloomy disruption that surfaced when you would sing
And this town simply cannot begin to compete
So I'm packing my Bullets and Silvertones and heading east
To a "brownstone up three flights of stairs" and it's on, on, on, on...it's...
I could have had my way, this year would bridge '66 again
Trust fund hipsters were casing the room
Chock-full of amphetamines
The overturned kick drum boom
Set the pace with incomparable cool
And if the tempo was lousy it was lost on all but you...
And your studies of fringe New York Streets:
I was reading the pavement in every word you would speak
To a "brownstone up three flights of stairs" and it's on, on, on, on...it's on...
If I could have had my way, this year would bridge '66 again
If I could have had my way, this year would bridge '66 again