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Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet ? |
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We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it |
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And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it |
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Lights flicker from the opposite loft |
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In this room the heat pipes just cough |
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The country music station plays soft |
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But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off |
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Just Louise and her lover so entwined |
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And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind. |
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Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial |
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Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while |
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But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues |
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You can tell by the way she smiles |
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See the primitive wallflower freeze |
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When the jelly-faced women all sneeze |
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Hear the one with the mustache say, 'Jeeze |
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I can't find my knees' |
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Jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule |
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But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel. |
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The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him |
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Sayin', 'Name me someone who's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him' |
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But like Louise always says |
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'Ya can't look at much, can ya man ?' |
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As she, herself, prepares for him |
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And Madonna, she still hasn't showed |
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We see the empty cage now corrode |
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Where her cape of the stage once had flowed |
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The fiddler, he now steps on the road |
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He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed |
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On the back of the fish trucks that load |
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While my conscience explodes |
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The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain |
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And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain. |
