The Room Above the Bookstore-Chris Stamey

It's a... cold morning We're sitting all alone At a cafe in the corner With espresso and a ... And you talk about last evening In a sway ironic term While the waiters clear the tables And sparrows clean the... We are hidden in the shadows With the neon lights that glow And I watch as your eyes flicker And the taxies come and go! My attention for the moment Is distracted by the sound Of the telegraphic chatter Of the rain as it drips down. As it sweeps a battered napkin To the gutter, through the ground Where it washes toward the river As it travels through the town! Like the sound of my own voice As I struggle for the words You're asking if I recognize The sound that we've just heard! Oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh Now the waiter carries over wear And grits a refugee Who is sat down at the table That is next to you and me! And an air of mystery And we speculate that she is Someone famous from the street! You remember our appointment You were searching through your bag In the clutter and the ointment And perfume from... Oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh In the hotel round the corner We have packed our memories We packed in our souvenirs And folded on our knees You are certain you have something Back there in the room In the armoire by the mirror perhaps But the taxi is coming soon! That will take us to a randez-vous With who will soon become In the after-match of what we lost And what we've not begun! In the room above the bookstore Where the curtains dance a bridge Where we polished off our discontent And shared so. And I ask you what the time is And you check your Mickey Mouse But it's broken like our hour glass As sand have all run out!