(To be sung to the tune of Leonard Cohen´s
"Suzanne led me down the river")
at the buffet of the station
you are looking at the women
in your dreams they're always younger
and they don't have these hard lines
around their mouths
at the buffet of the station
where you chew your lukewarm hotdog
you are listening to the drunk bums
who abuse the red-mouthed women
whose hard lines are cracking open
for a twisted smile
now and then
at the buffet of the station
you are sipping your stale beer
and you're watching all the people
and you almost ask yourself
why you are there
and you smoke your final cigarette
at the buffet of the station
and you pay the shabby waitress
with the hungry eyes
and you stoop to take your briefcase
and return their empty smiles
and then you turn away
but you know when you come back
another train, another day
there will be the same fixation,
the same peoples, the same smiles
at the buffet of the station
as they always are
and you never can forget them
always hear their hollow laughter
always see the painted smiles
and you know that they are
part of what you are
now and then
* * *
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
(To be sung to the tune of Leonard Cohen´s
"Suzanne led me down the river")
at the buffet of the station
you are looking at the women
in your dreams they're always younger
and they don't have these hard lines
around their mouths
at the buffet of the station
where you chew your lukewarm hotdog
you are listening to the drunk bums
who abuse the red-mouthed women
whose hard lines are cracking open
for a twisted smile
now and then
at the buffet of the station
you are sipping your stale beer
and you're watching all the people
and you almost ask yourself
why you are there
and you smoke your final cigarette
at the buffet of the station
and you pay the shabby waitress
with the hungry eyes
and you stoop to take your briefcase
and return their empty smiles
and then you turn away
but you know when you come back
another train, another day
there will be the same fixation,
the same peoples, the same smiles
at the buffet of the station
as they always are
and you never can forget them
always hear their hollow laughter
always see the painted smiles
and you know that they are
part of what you are
now and then
* * *
