Night is well on it's way, they said
while the rain comes down and rusty doors are wrenched
and yesterday's papers cover a man on a bench

Dawn is a magical moment, they said
as a lonely hooker returns to her lipstick-room
and a newspaper boy whistles a Joplin tune

I walk upside down on the wet asphalt
and as the sun rises, the city's on fire
The mind is a tramp, dropping his bags,
the eyes pull the blinds, the head is for hire

A hand full of coins
and a pocket full of sorrow
and the phone-booth on the corner says
"out of order"

like when the world reflects your soul
and the soul reflects the night -
there's pretty little structure
as the rats scurry to their holes,
trying to avoid the light