| I’m calling you from the foyer
|
| Of the Sands Hotel
|
| Where the men and the women
|
| Are acquainted quite well
|
| And the drunkards keep on drinking
|
| And oh, my room is cold
|
| I’m disputing the bill
|
| I will sleep in my clothes
|
| And you, my invalid friend
|
| You slam the receiver when you say
|
| «If I had your limbs for a day
|
| I would steam away»
|
| I’m calling you from the foyer
|
| Of this awful hotel
|
| Where the slime and the grime
|
| Gel
|
| And I cannot — or, I do not
|
| And oh, my room is cold
|
| And I’m envying you never having to choose
|
| And you, my invalid friend
|
| You slam the receiver when you say
|
| «If I had your limbs for a day
|
| I would steam away»
|
| I’m calling you from the foyer
|
| Of the Sands Hotel
|
| It’s not low-life, it’s just people
|
| Having a good time
|
| And oh, my invalid friend
|
| Oh, my invalid friend
|
| In our different ways we are
|
| The same |