Song For Oscar's

Tending to the city's broken heart

Little question marks linger over lonely people in the diner after dark

All cooing in their tiny china cups

One great, devastated row at the plate-glass window

We move to greet the emphysemic outlaws in the park

Hoarding fourteen nips of Dewar's in an army-jacket liquor cabinet

Starving out the skaters for a ledge under the stars

They all lived seven lives before the Sun let down her guard

They all lived seven lives before the Sun let down her guard

They all lived seven lives before the Sun let down her guard

Magazine readers, with your matchbooks and compact mirrors

Clobbered at Oscar's with flowers in the face of fear

A poem for the blue stalls in the bathrooms of the world in the backs of bars

Hungry neon lovers' symbols hurled across the booths at the new boys, a little thick between the ears

He's going for sentimental, but he's coming off severe

He says he's dead for seven years, he was dutifully revered

In certain circles, they were casting statues out of potter plaster

But that was all a while ago, before he got here

Now, he lives on gin-and-tonics and he studies economics

Magazine readers, with your matchbooks and compact mirrors

Clobbered at Oscar's with flowers in the face of fear

Ah, you magazine readers, with your matchbooks and compact mirrors

Clobbered at Oscar's with flowers in the face of fear