| Now, should you expect to see something that you hadn’t seen
|
| In somebody you’d known since you were sixteen?
|
| If love is a bolt from the blue
|
| Then what is that bolt but a glorified screw?
|
| And that doesn’t hold nothing together
|
| Far from these nonsense bars and their nowhere music
|
| It’s making me sick and I know it’s making you sick
|
| There’s nothing there, it’s like eating air
|
| It’s like drinking gin with nothing else in
|
| And that doesn’t hold me together
|
| But for one crowded hour
|
| You were the only one in the room
|
| I sailed around all those bumps in the night
|
| To your beacon in the gloom
|
| I thought I had found my golden September
|
| In the middle of that purple June
|
| But one crowded hour
|
| Would lead to my wreck and ruin
|
| Now, I know you like your boys who take their medicine
|
| From the bowl of a silver spoon
|
| Who run away with the dish and scale the fish
|
| By the silvery light of the moon
|
| Who were taught from the womb to believe till the tomb
|
| That as far as their bleeding eyes see
|
| Is a pleasure pen, meant for them
|
| Builded and rent for them, not for the likes of me
|
| No, not for the likes of you and me
|
| And for one crowded hour
|
| You were the only one in the room
|
| And I sailed around all those bumps in the night
|
| To your beacon in the gloom
|
| I thought I had found my golden September
|
| In the middle of that purple June
|
| But one crowded hour
|
| Would lead to my wreck and ruin
|
| Oh, but the green-eyed harpy of the salt land
|
| She takes into hers, my hand
|
| She says, «Boy, I know you’re lying
|
| Oh, but then so am I!»
|
| And to this I said, «Oh well»
|
| Now, put me in a cage full of lions, I’ll learn to speak lion
|
| In fact I know the language well
|
| I picked it up while I was versing myself
|
| In the languages they speak in hell
|
| That night that silence gave birth to a baby
|
| But they took it away to her silent dismay
|
| And they raised it to be lady
|
| Now she can’t keep her mouth shut
|
| And for one crowded hour
|
| You were the only one in the room
|
| And I sailed around all those bumps in the night
|
| To your beacon in the gloom
|
| I thought I had found my golden September
|
| In the middle of that purple June
|
| But one crowded hour
|
| Would lead to my wreck and ruin
|
| Yes, that one crowded hour
|
| You were the only one in the room
|
| Well, I played a few songs for those bumps in the night
|
| In fact, I played this very tune
|
| But you said, «What is this six-stringed instrument
|
| But an adolescent loom?»
|
| And one crowded hour
|
| Would lead to my wreck and ruin
|
| Yes, and one crowded hour
|
| Would lead to my wreck and ruin
|
| Oh, and that one crowded hour
|
| Would lead to my wreck and ruin |