trying
Well in the down side of town, the sun can’t be found.
The potholes are so big that you can hide.
Harry's only twenty-three; but looks old enough for social security.
And the local priest shoots craps just to abide.
The mail don’t get delivered; for that matter people don’t either.
Every address is the wrong one.
Weeping Sally stopped crying, just after she stopped trying
To catch the streetcar to the sun.
Me, I avoid the cracks and ignore the facts
In the shadows of the sunny side of the street.
I pass a game of pick-up sticks and though the sticks have turned to bricks
I still try to direct my feet.
Well there’s a full house tonight in the bar named Unfulfilled Desires.
Where the entrance fee is proving that someone once called you a liar.
And everyone is buying and everyone is selling
But no one is trying and no one is telling.
Sitting at the bar holding one of Gutenberg’s finest
And dictating to four secretaries is Thomas Aquinas.
His thumb is stuck into the book of holy thinking
His mind is stuck on how hard it is to keep that ship from sinking.
And throwing logic to the winds in a hurricane of revelation
Reflects on the cigarette girl brushing past as a marvel of creation.
And me, I’m sweet-talking the prettiest gal in the place
Assuring her that my front door key doesn’t fit the lock of disgrace.
But she is rapidly aging; her hair is turning white.
And I’m rapidly getting the world’s worst case of stage fright.
But color can hide when it wants to; look at all the colors in light.
So I straighten up my collar and keep trying to get it right.
Well there’s a full house tonight in the bar named Unfulfilled Desires.
Where the entrance fee is proving that someone once called you a liar.
And everyone is buying and everyone is selling
But no one is trying and no one is telling.
And the band’s percussion specializes in giving concussions
As seven scarlet strumpets blow seven golden trumpets
And in the middle swearing she’s just trying to carry on
Swirling in cigar smoke is the whore of Babylon.
And pulling up outside with his mind still going full throttle
Averroes pushes open the door still holding a book by Aristotle.
Aquinas makes room sweeping away breaking glass
As Averroes thinks about the symbolism of a broken past.
And me, I’m trying a bank shot with the cue stick that I learned on.
While in the corner hungry Al has just ordered another whole sturgeon.
A wild pistol shot causes the eight ball to drop.
In this light you can’t tell real from fake.
So I rack them again; it’s never the end.
I’m still trying for my lucky break.
Well there’s a full house tonight in the bar named Unfulfilled Desires.
Where the entrance fee is proving that someone once called you a liar.
And everyone is buying and everyone is selling
But no one is trying and no one is telling.
And Aristotle is dealing stud poker explaining the rules of the game.
But you can't tell a good hand from a bad one; in this place they look just the same.
And he’s talking about reason and tragedy and the hunger of the soul
Causing Jimmy the Greek to wonder whatever happened to his order of jellyrolls.
And Aquinas and Averroes telling Aristotle what’s wrong with what he wrote.
And Aristotle looks at his watch and says , “Who said we’re here to vote?”
Me, I’m arm-wrestling with the bug-eyed sailor man
As his oily girlfriend shovels in spinach, can after explosive can.
I apply my secret tactic that I learned from an armless spastic
Using leverage from a hidden source
When some oil from her wrist causes me to lose my grip
So I try again with another force.
Well there’s a full house tonight in the bar named Unfulfilled Desires.
Where the entrance fee is proving that someone once called you a liar.
And everyone is buying and everyone is selling
But no one is trying and no one is telling.
And Immanuel Kant says time ticks backwards to an ancient, master plan.
And better-late-than-never Eddie says, “If you’re so smart, how come your name isn’t, Can?”
Kant jumps to his feet abruptly as whisky glasses crash to the floor,
Says, “I’d shoot you with my metaphysics but I had to check it at the door.”
And me, I’m trying to finish a puzzle that I’ve worked on for many a long night.
It’s got over a million pieces and it spells the word, “life.”
There’s only one piece left; the philosophers have gathered around.
But before I can put the last piece in, they hurl it all to the ground.
I say, “I can’t believe you did that; tell me what is this full house for.”
And they say, “It’s not a question of belief, and it was made for philosophers.”
And Harry and Sally and Eddie, and Al and Jimmy the Greek too
And the prettiest gal in the place who now tells me her name is Sue.
And the whore of Babylon who has changed into wedding lace
And the cigarette girl whose Swiss watch is ticking in the wrong place
And the strumpets and the bug-eyed sailor man and his oily girlfriend
All help me to pick up the pieces so I can try it once again.
Well there’s a full house tonight in the bar named Unfulfilled Desires.
Where the entrance fee is proving that someone once called you a liar.
And everyone is buying and everyone is selling
But no one is trying and no one is telling.