The old couple has a bookstore on the boulevard

I only see it at night around closing time

The old lady has a mouth, she does all the talking

The old man stares from behind the counter

From behind her

He shuffles, grunts, mumbles under his breath

I don't think he likes me

I like this store, I have been here before

They've got books you can't find anywhere else

Latest writings by authors long dead

Rare works I was not aware ever existed

(Of course, perhaps, maybe they don't...)


Well they rudely remind me it's closing time

And they want my host eyes to leave

Gotta make a change (can't explain how)

Who am I with now?


She's been working there part time, I think

Overtime on black wet Sundays

Not much of a life

She doesn't miss her time much


There's a small apartment upstairs, around back

They wouldn't rent it out to just anyone

It's rented out to this girl

I'm her shadow tonight

As I have been, it seems, on other nights


She's sensitive, shy and lonely

Getting older, sort of plain

She doesn't like herself very much

Thinks most of her life's been spent in vain


In her quiet dim lit room

The darkness leaks in from outside

From the black humid sky

To the shadows that hover in the corners

All around

Heat that simmers up the smells

Of paint, carpet, old clothes and

All the personal scents inside a dwelling

Like a fingerprint, no two exact but many alike


Tonight again she's sad

She's argued with the old woman

Who is harsh and blunt

A sensitivity flattened and razed

By years of hard living



The old woman doesn't trust her to pay

And has too many rules for her not to break any

The girl is disturbed, upset

Her living space is in jeopardy

She has nowhere else to go

And probably no way to start over again

No one to turn to for help

Her too small apartment and her stressful job

Are all she has


Not true, not totally

She has friends

And at times like this she remembers them

I've seen her party with them before

Amber drink from the bottle

Feel less pain and laugh it off for a while

She's not lonely then, those nights are good

But most nights are like this


You think you're alone but I see you

Your guard comes down and you cry

And I know

Your soul is like this night

A choir of despairing voices

Coming out of the dark

Into your room...into the shadows

Touching and merging with the darkness

In your heart


She likes this place,

And though she hates the old bitch

She'd hate to let it go

A private place where she can be

A person no one knows


Naked walks at midnight

Through the shelves of printed treasure

Sensual, alive at last

Dark solitude and pleasure

The freedom of the unknown place

Depopulated store at night

A place to fully be herself

Free spirit coming up for light

The most light it may ever see

Outside of in her head

Better late at night than never

Better 3 a.m. than dead


Feel I'm slipping- got to go

Hate to leave you crying

But I'm one of those voices on the night

My signal fades, dying


Don't sit alone

If you can, call some friends

Who'll understand and change the mood

To something higher, just to get you by


I like this place

I like you too

It's a sure bet I'll remember you

You both have cheap class

And that's the richest kind there is


And if I get cast this way again

We can looks through the books

And dance naked in the aisles after midnight

Celebrate freedom surrounded by knowledge

Cloaked in mystery and the force of life


I'd like to see you again sometime


Yes maybe I'll see you




Down the line



G.S., 6/20/91


GS: vocals, guitar, electric drums & percussion, treated whistling, bass



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