The Room Above the Bookstore

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!