| I remember his hat tilted forward
|
| His glasses are folded in his vest
|
| And he seems like the kind of man who beats his horses
|
| Or the dancers who work in a bar
|
| We saw on the screen his face for a moment
|
| No time to plead or even ask why
|
| Jack Ruby appears from out of nowhere
|
| Then disappears, in broad daylight
|
| 'Cause he’s a friend of that cloven-hoofed gangster the devil
|
| He’s been seen with the sheriff and the police
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| Drinking whiskey and water after hours
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| Saying, «Let's do business, boys. |
| The drinks are on me.»
|
| So draw the box along quickly
|
| Avert your eyes with shame
|
| Let us stand and speak of the weather
|
| And pretend nothing ever happened on that day
|
| Grant us the luxury, 'cause all our heroes are bastards
|
| Grant us the luxury, 'cause all our heroes are thieves --
|
| Of the innocence, of the afternoons
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| That we think it’s a virtue to simply survive
|
| But it feels like this calm it’s decaying
|
| It’s collapsing under its own weight
|
| And I think it’s your friend the hangman coming
|
| Chokin' back a laugh, drunk and swaggering to your door
|
| Now do you feel that cold, icy presence
|
| In the morning with coffee and with bread?
|
| Do you feel, in the movement of traffic and days
|
| A terrible significance? |