The Ghosts Of St. George's Drive

guitarist in the subway

sings right near the train

dealing with the brake noise squealing

drowning his refrain

his mobile crowd

moves back and forth

inside the tunnel's jaws

the clatter of the turnstile

becomes the boy's applause

no radio no tv no gunshots no sound

policeman's cars are muted

some seven stories down

some white noise some breathing

the heart will gently pound

we lovers isolate our souls inside this quiet town

you wouldn't think

they knew that we're alive

we're just the ghosts of st george's drive

a wonder why it always seemed

like somehow we imposed

a dime for every time they told us

sorry but we're closed

it drizzles down in chinatown

when we hit ming siam's

could you provide a place inside

for these two holograms

chorus

would someone please announce

that we've arrived

here come the ghosts of st george's drive

and from this hotel window

we view the road below

the traffic's light on this wet night

and vacancy's aglow

the tower chimes eleven times

and barely makes a sound

while lovers mesh in pale flesh

inside this quiet town

a juggler on his blades

a fat man with his cane

almost break each other's path

but both of them refrain

the man, he keeps on walking

the juggler keeps on rolling

they tip their hats to a young au pair

whose carriage keeps on strolling

and not a word was spoken