Song For Oscar's

Tending to the city's broken heart
Little question marks linger over lonely people in the diner after dark
All cooing in their tiny china cups
One great, devastated row at the plate-glass window

We move to greet the emphysemic outlaws in the park
Hoarding fourteen nips of Dewar's in an army-jacket liquor cabinet
Starving out the skaters for a ledge under the stars
They all lived seven lives before the Sun let down her guard

They all lived seven lives before the Sun let down her guard
They all lived seven lives before the Sun let down her guard

Magazine readers, with your matchbooks and compact mirrors
Clobbered at Oscar's with flowers in the face of fear

A poem for the blue stalls in the bathrooms of the world in the backs of bars
Hungry neon lovers' symbols hurled across the booths at the new boys, a little thick between the ears
He's going for sentimental, but he's coming off severe
He says he's dead for seven years, he was dutifully revered
In certain circles, they were casting statues out of potter plaster
But that was all a while ago, before he got here
Now, he lives on gin-and-tonics and he studies economics

Magazine readers, with your matchbooks and compact mirrors
Clobbered at Oscar's with flowers in the face of fear
Ah, you magazine readers, with your matchbooks and compact mirrors
Clobbered at Oscar's with flowers in the face of fear