I am the grit in the gears, the missing bolt, I am the poker of sticks into spokes.
I like to know how things work, but sometimes when I take them apart and rebuild them, I have a few pieces left over.
I am a man, so I tend to leave reading the instructions until after it goes wrong.
And like all men I have a comprehensive mental map of the world and never need to ask directions.
I never get lost, only sometimes I'm late, or end up in the wrong place entirely.
It's what we do.
Distant cousins, there’s a limited supply. And we’re down to the dozens, and this is why: Big Eyed Beans from Venus! Oh my, oh my.
Boys and girls,
Earth people around the circle,
Mixtures of man alive.
Big eyed beans from Venus,
Don’t let anything get in between us.
Beam in on me baby,
and we’ll beam together
I know we always been together,
but there’s more.
Mister Zoot Horn Rollo, hit that long lunar note,
and let it float.
Men let your wallets flop out,
and women open your purses,
Cause a man or a woman without a big eyed bean from Venus
Is suffering with the worstest of curses
Yeah, you’re suffering, with the worstest of curses.
Put ‘em out in the sun, and when the night come
You don’t have to go out and get ‘em
They’ll glow with you
They’ll go with you
They’ll show with you
Ain’t no losers
Cause they’re on the right track
Cause they’re on the right track
You can be on the right track, woman,
Of course, of course
Ain’t no SNAFU, no fol-de-rol
Check these out, Big eyed beans from Venus
Oh, let a few out, let ‘em pass in between us
Distant cousins, there’s a limited supply.
And we’re down to the dozens, and this is why…
Don’t let anything get in between us!
Big eyed beans from Venus
Big eyed beans from Venus.
A. Non Mouse, on a comment, said that Tom Wait's gravelly, late-night voice for some reason, put her in mind of the paintings of Edward Hopper. I agree, he fits right in, and so he does.
Hoppers most well known painting was called Nighthawks, Here it is.
Tom Waits made an album of that name, a live recording in a smoky bar, Here's the lyrics from one track. One of the things I most like about Waits is that he is a painter with words. artists such as The Eagles, Rod Stewart, Bruce Springsteen, all have had hits with his songs, but when sung by him they take on a totally different atmosphere.
I could see the characters in Hopper's nighthawks as, at half past three in the morning, having earlier been in some turbulent, grey smoke, basement club, desultory dancing, tired now, it's a long way home.
"I was always eh, kinda wont to like consider myself kind of a pioneer of the palate, a restaurateur if you will. I've wined, dined, sipped and supped in some of the most demonstrably beamer epitomable bistros in the Los Angles metropolitan region. Yeah, I've had strange looking patty melts at Norms. I've had dangerous veal cutlets at the Copper Penny. Well what you get is a breaded Salisbury steak in a shake-n-bake and topped with a provocative sauce of Velveeta and uh, half-n-half. Smothered with Campbell's tomato soup. See I have kinda of a uh...well I order my veal cutlet, Christ it left the plate and it walked down to the end of the counter. Waitress, ? she's wearing those rhinestone glasses with the little pearl thing clipped on the sweater. My veal cutlet come down, tried to beat the shit out of my cup of coffee. Coffee just wasn't strong enough to defend itself."
Nighthawks at the diner
Emma's forty-niner
There's a rendezvous of strangers
Around the coffee urn tonight
All the gypsy hacks and the insomniacs
Now the paper's been read
Now the waitress said
Eggs and sausage and a side of toast
Coffee and a roll, hash browns over easy
Chile in a bowl with burgers and fries
What kind of pie?
It's a graveyard charade it's a late shift masquerade
And it's two for a quarter, dime for a dance
Woolworth rhinestone diamond earrings and a sideway's glance
Now the register rings
Now the waitress sings
Eggs and sausage and a side of toast
Coffee and a roll, hash browns over easy
Chile in a bowl with burgers and fries
What kind of pie?
The classified section offers no direction
It's a cold caffeine in a nicotine cloud
Now the touch of your fingers
Lingers burning in my memory
I've been eighty-sixed from your scheme
Now I'm in a melodramatic nocturnal scene
Now I'm a refugee from a disconcerted affair
Now the lead pipe morning fall
Now the waitress call
Eggs and sausage, now a side of toast
Coffee and a roll, hash browns over easy
Chile in a bowl with burgers and fries
And now what kind of pie?
À la mode if you will
Just come in and join the crowd
Have some time to kill
See I just come in to join the crowd
Have some time to kill
Just come in to join the crowd
Cause I have some time to kill
