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Ain't it just like the night to play tricks |
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When you're tryin' to be so quiet? |
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We sit here stranded |
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Though we're all doin' our best to deny it |
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And Louise holds a handful of rain |
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Tempting 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 |
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So entwined |
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And these visions of Johanna |
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That conquer my mind |
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In the empty lot where the ladies play |
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Blindman's bluff with the keychain |
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And the all night girls they whisper of |
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Escapades out on the "D" train |
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We can hear the night watchman |
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Click his flashlight |
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Ask himself if it's him or them |
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It's insane |
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Louise, she's all right, she's just near |
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She's delicate and seems like the mirror |
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But she just makes it all too concise and too clear |
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That Johanna's not here |
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The ghost of electricity |
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Howls in the bones of her face |
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Where these visions of Johanna |
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Have now taken my place |
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Now, little boy lost |
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He takes himself so seriously |
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He brags of his misery |
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He likes to live dangerously |
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And when bringing her name up |
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He speaks of a farewell kiss to me |
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He's sure got a lotta gall |
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To be so useless and all |
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Muttering small talk at the wall |
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While I'm in the hall |
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Oh, how can I explain? |
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It's so hard to get on |
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And these visions of Johanna |
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They kept me up past the dawn |
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Inside the museums |
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Infinity goes up on trial |
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Voices echo, 'This is what |
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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 |
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"Jeeze, I can't find my knees" |
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Oh, jewels and binoculars |
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Hang from the head of the mule |
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But these visions of Johanna |
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They make it all seem so cruel |
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The peddler now speaks to the countess |
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Who's pretending to care for him |
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Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite |
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And I'll go out and say a prayer for him" |
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But like Louise always says |
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"You can't look at much, can you man?" |
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As she, herself, prepares for him |
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And Madonna, she still has not showed |
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We see this 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 to the road |
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He writes every thing's been returned which was owed |
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On the back of the fish truck that loads |
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While my conscience explodes |
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The harmonicas play |
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The skeleton keys and the rain |
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And these visions of Johanna |
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Are now all that remain |
