Sad, black record spins on and on
The street is quiet, the wine is gone.
I fall asleep on the sofa,alone,
Waiting for a call from home.
The city sounds are muted still,
No one to rob, no one to ****.
Bars are vacant, a taxi drives slow
Toward the place a passenger knows.
I sleep on and on , through this purple night
With dreams and scenes, and city lights.
Waiting for one call from home;
On a sofa, all alone.