The Nutcracker Buck Sessions

Baby, it’s raining . . . .  There’s a pain in my heart I just can’t trace
I’ve looked every place for the one true thing I used to know
Now I’ve made my way back down to the mission on Ragland Avenue
I thought of you
Thought I’d just say hello

And tell you . . . I don’t drink any more (I don’t drink any less)
That’s not funny, I guess . . . .  My jokes seldom were
My timing off, stepping on my own punchlines
Falling flat on my face, with the singular grace of a drunk, I’d say
“Thanks, you’ve been a wonderful crowd . . . .”

I’m stuck in some phone booth
The truth is I don’t know where I’m at
Got my hat pulled down low across my eyes
Pretending I’m talking so these dudes walking by will just keep on walking
And not hit me up for change . . . .
You know I never could change . . . .

You know I really ought to try to pull myself together
Work a day or two, buy some clothes
Maybe buy a ticket somewhere
God only knows . . . .

This phone booth’s the old fashioned kind they don’t make anymore, I think I’ve been here before
Yes, there’s your name and mine inside a heart
And the  numbers of hookers and bookies from years ago
Probably all dead now
What’s it matter anyhow?

Baby, there’s no phone booth, the truth is there ain’t even a phone
I’m all alone in the trunk of some dudes’ car
Working backward through memories right up to the point I said “Him or me”
We all know how you chose
Now, before we close,
I’d like to say
Thanks, you’ve been a wonderful crowd. . . .