You, me and the liquor-store

We met in one of those places where people seem to meet,

and it was like a roof-covered copy of a city-street.

'cause lights were going on and off like a flashlight in the zone,

and music; like the morning-rush; a steady, humming drone.

Along the walls the girls were lined like hookers on display

while the boys were in the bar and thinking what the hell to say,

and everyone was walking, but never getting anywhere.

They never focus with their eyes or turn their heads down there.

So I didn't catch your eye that night. I caught you by the arm,

and we danced to something sounding like a burglar-alarm

until the smoke was rising from its sleep down on the floor

and we were told there was a fire in the liquor-store.

But when we got outside the fire seemed to die and stop,

and someone gave us whiskey just to shove off and shut up.

We drank and got so pissed I can't remember anymore,

but when I woke, you still lay there beside me on the floor

Then marriage was a pregnancy and just six months away.

I never asked, but you said: "Yes, I do," now, anyway,

so we got settled in a suburb in a run-down avenue,

a place where people never stop, but speed up and drive through.

I drank myself to sleep to tell the world I didn't care,

and hoped and prayed that I would wake to see you weren't there,

and time was eating calendars like French fries 'till the day

you packed your bags and got our kids and car and drove away.

So, now I'm bathing ice-cubes at the place where people meet,

and these pretty women seem to hover right on by me on their feet.

I never get to catch them by the arm now anymore,

but soon I'm gonna light a fire in the liquor-store.