Thought you'd want to meet me here,

a scion of Clint, Randolph and the boys,

a dirt speck on 1950s celluloid,

thought you'd want to meet me here,

a grin and laugh mired in static,

a rusty nail and worn-through rope,

a tired actor and a removal van,

outside, teetering on the kerb,

wash-and-go-and-go-spit-at-a-cat,

yeah thought you'd want to meet me here,

a long way from home yet every bed

on every road just a touch better,

a dimly lit interior and dust that chokes

the merry maids you had to play,

for fools, like the steinway, all day,

yeah, I thought you'd want to meet me here,

to tell me the facts and draw it out,

in some tedious, doggerel drawl,

and flick the switches, click the heels,

slam your way in and out and round

and down, lay the barrel on the tracks,

yeah, I thought you'd want to meet me here,

truth is I'd rather be somewhere else,

not a slave to a cliche of your tawdry sense.