
Date of issue: 23.05.1966
Song language: English
Midnight Through Morning |
The room it was lit up me too I couldn’t sit up |
Engaged was my time in studying the wall |
And all the poets kept getting louder |
Even though they weren’t needed any longer |
The strapless high heeled street walker |
Believes every day that she goes younger |
Ah I wish I could be her lover |
And go with her as she makes her rounds |
And fall with her hair as it comes down |
The poets would keep on all night with their come ons |
One would say something another’d say more |
Looking for contracts but finding the soap |
Well I know she’d take them all for a joke |
Ah but she’d take them all no doubt |
And they never knowing what it was about |
Ah I wish I could be her lover |
And go with her as she makes her rounds |
And fall with her hair as it comes down |
With burning candle and the store window |
Hard to believe there could be more |
And all the poets complained of the cold |
But they only did what they were told |
Searching so hard for a satisfied mind |
While she walked by with a satisfied soul |
Ah I wish I could be her lover |
And go with her as she makes her rounds |
And fall with her hair as it comes down |
A radio played on to almost no one |
Attention was paid only to the dawn |
As she stopped and bent to touch her nylons |
And felt in the air for a post to lean on |
No one could ever know her outside |
In the take of an instant she had passed by |
Well I wish I could be her lover |
Go with her as she makes her rounds |
And fall with her hair as it comes down |
Symbols and motives were again promoted |
Hard to believe there could be more |
As she moved on and then faded out |
To the songs of the poet still keeping it up |
The sidewalks cleared themselves for a new touch |
And it all disappeared into the face of the clock |