| Dark October drifting past us |
| Sheets of rain that hum and drum |
| On this panoramic window |
| While the grammophone plays «Stormy Weather» again |
| And the winds that howl and holler |
| Like a lost and lonely beast |
| While this empty high-rise shivers |
| But for floor 67 where you and I sleep |
| The empty cabana |
| The wolves by the pool-side |
| The hawks in the grand foyer |
| And raggedy children |
| Who play after sundown |
| In cars that are all stripped bare |
| We are stocked and under lock |
| an ice machine, a movie screen |
| And drinks to last us 'til the end |
| Sobriety is not a friend |
| This was once a proud endeavour |
| Builders reaching for the sky |
| Now there’s nothing here that lingers |
| But the cold, hollow cries of a market that died |
| But we stayed on through the winter |
| As the empire crashed and burned |
| And we heard the world grow quiet |
| And the voice on the radio said its goodbye |
| A wonderful vista |
| An endless siesta |
| So high up above it all |
| On floor 67 |
| We danced in our heaven |
| While you watched the curtain fall |