Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Closing time at Literary Mary bar.
Here I am sweeping the floor after everyone has left.
The boss never did give me a chance to sing.
He said I could. He said I'd have a big night
dedicated to my voice, if I was good enough.
Now I just walk this mop like a woman I'd love.
A woman I'd dance with, cup her thin waist,
lock onto her eyes. And I'd sing into her ear
like all sentimental lovers do.
I'd show her my voice. I'd sway crowds with it.
People would hear the truth of my voice.
But now that opportunity is gone, wasted, lost.
My voice will be known only by a few close friends.
I will sing on hot nights from a bottle of red wine.
They will sing along in those drunk moments.
And here I must sing to myself,
sweep my fortune away with the rubbish:
Tomorrow never comes
What kind of a fool
Do they take me for?
A resting place for bums
A trap set in the slums
But I know the score
I won't take no for an answer
I was born to be a dancer now, Yeah!'
*Song lyrics taken from Bugsy Malone musical. Song is 'tomorrow' sang by character 'Fizzy'.