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I heard a wharf rat's high-pitch song |
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Underneath the dimmest yellow lights last night |
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I was dockside waiting for a guy |
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Who knows what it's like to be alone in this town |
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The river smelled like a fishmonger's hands |
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As it lapped up my tasteless reflection |
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Leather weather blew in from the east |
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On a high wind train with it's tar top down |
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And every vessel in my broken sea |
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Cries out for my blood tonight |
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Seen the headlights of Vincent's car |
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He pulled his ride up slowly |
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Just like God would |
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Nothing different from any Friday night |
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We sat and we smoked on his lukewarm hood |
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Small talk before the exchange |
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Is Vincent's way of easing his own soul |
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Into a spot in the dark parking lot |
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Of a conscience that weighs |
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More than all the dope in this world |
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Chorus: |
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Handful of chestnuts |
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Mouthful of April rain |
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Stomachful of two plain slices |
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The notes of life are hard to explain |
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An eyeful of lunchtime girls |
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Closet full of red wine stains |
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Earful of subway trumpet |
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The notes of life are all that remain |
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Took out my money in fair due time |
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To hand to my man for a dance with his lady |
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Just as the moon unholstered itself |
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From a cop colored coat of a downtown cloud |
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And Vince, he paused with his back to my face |
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And that's when I heard the stones grind behind me |
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You don't need eyes on the back of your head |
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To tell you when you're done out loud |
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And every vessel in my broken sea |
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Walks out on my skin tonight |
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From a rooftop up in the Bronx |
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Tonight I sweep down across my breathing city |
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Feel so light |
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The taste of the night |
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Is sweet gushing across my tongue |
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Through midnight smoke and skyscraper glow |
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I descend down for to deliver |
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The final notes of a wharf rat's song |
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To my body floating in the river |
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The notes of life are all that remain |
