Image via WikipediaBesides Sudoku and longneck steamer clams, the significant discovery of the last year was Tom Waits. Listening to his music and his gravelly, late-night voice answered some deep-seated need for music that goes beyond the standard pop-chart fare that you normally listen to on a daily basis. I feel compelled to post this song. It's a whole story, a film, a night for an insomniac, a dream, the last course of a great meal..and maybe in a year or two I will outgrow it as being too gimmicky, too dissatisfied or too something else. But for now, I am happy to listen to this stuff.
Well it's Ninth and Hennepin
All the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes
And the moon's teeth marks are on the sky
Like a tarp thrown all over this
And the broken umbrellas like dead birds
And the steam comes out of the grill
Like the whole goddamn town's ready to blow...
And the bricks are all scarred with jailhouse tattoos
And everyone is behaving like dogs
And the horses are coming down Violin Road
And Dutch is dead on his feet
And all the rooms they smell like diesel
And you take on the dreams of the ones who have slept here
And I'm lost in the window, and I hide in the stairway
And I hang in the curtain, and I sleep in your hat...
And no one brings anything small into a bar around here
They all started out with bad directions
And the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear
"One for every year he's away", she said
Such a crumbling beauty, ah
There's nothing wrong with her that a hundred dollars won't fix
She has that razor sadness that only gets worse
With the clang and the thunder of the Southern Pacific going by
And the clock ticks out like a dripping faucet
'til you're full of rag water and bitters and blue ruin
And you spill out over the side to anyone who will listen...
And I've seen it all, I've seen it all
Through the yellow windows of the evening train...