The Last Time I Saw Richard

The last I saw Richard was in Detroit '68 and he told

me, "All romantics meet the

same fate someday: cynical

and drunk and boring someone

in some dark cafe." "You

laugh," he said, "you think

you're immune, well go look

into your eyes they're full

of moons, you like roses and

kisses and pretty men to tell

you all those pretty lies,

pretty lies, when you gonna realize they're all just

pretty lies, only pretty lies?" Put a quarter in the

Wurlitzer and he pushed three

buttons and the thing began

to whir and the barmaid came

by in fishnet stockings and a

bowtie and said, "Drink up now, its getting on time to

close." "Richard you haven't

really changed," I

said, "just now that you're

romanticizing some kind of

pain that's in your head,

you've got tombstones in your

eyes but the songs you picked

to dream on, listen, they

speak of a love so sweet.

Love so sweet, when you gonna

get yourself back up on your

feet? Oh love can be so sweet, love so sweet."

Richard got married to a

figure skater and her bought

her a dishwasher and a coffee

percolator, and now he drinks

alone most nights with the TV

on and all the house lights

off, crying. "I'm gonna blow

this damn candle out, I don't

want nobody coming over to my table I got nothing to talk

to anybody about" All good

dreamers end this way,

staring down bottles in dark

cafes, dark cafes, only a

phase before I get my

gorgeous wings and fly away,

only a phase, these dark cafe days.