Every Saturday the nighthawks pile into the diner
on the corner of Marigold and Vine
Coffee for a dime, but the waitress cost extra
Pigs in a blanket and daffy on the tube;
coffee taste like late night rendezvous;
laughs and memories of Saturday night

In a booth sits a lonely blonde smoking a Chesterfield
drinking cold coffee with yesterday's cream
wearing a black and blue dress to match the color of her eye
Her man ran out with all her money, so she waits;
because it's too cold outside where the bums are fast asleep
and she's not ready for the next resurrection

A solitary sailor sits at the counter wearing a p-coat
and crackerjack hat waiting for the waitress to come back
Her rhinestone studded name tag say's, Irene;
the name of a Maxwell House coffee queen
with scrambled egg yellow in her hair
A real doll for the late night crowd

Outside the Texaco sign burns a red white and blue special
while the paper man hawks his morning late night edition
Across the street the Park and Drive
is filled with yesterdays Coupé deville
awaiting the coming dawn

Sun slowly punches another day into the sky,
spilling a carpet of diamonds from its guts
as the city sweeps away the cobwebs and decay;
all the promises of another Saturday night.

"Hey Jack, when did you get back in town?"

"Hey man, I didn't even know what town I was in."

"Didn't know what town."

"No man, what town is this this?" 

"Oh Jack, you kill me."


Memories of Saturday Night (Lyrics in description)

This is only a memory of a town.
Last year's housewives 
flew south like geese for winter
with the residue of forgotten obligations;
lonely dandelions blowing seeds 
through empty corridors.
Only a memory.

Derelict traffic lights, 
cracked coffee cups and boarded up windows 
hide the past like messages 
written in sand;
lost correspondence.
Only a memory.

Only a memory.

Fast asleep on a lawn chair in the rain
with splintered bones that pass for legs,
is the broke down jalopy 
of the man I am today
Jumper cables cannot bring 
life to my old ticker;
the sun has set, 
but the lights still flicker

The tap at Joe’s Bar is not dry
The men sit on the stools. 
With empty eyes 
Trying to remember 
Trying to remember 
a town 
A memory of a town

Derelict traffic lights, 
cracked coffee cups and boarded up windows 
hide the past like messages 
written in sand;
lost correspondence.
Only a memory.

Only a memory.

Fast asleep on a lawn chair in the rain
with splintered bones that pass for legs,
is the broke down jalopy 
of the man I am today
Jumper cables cannot bring 
life to my old ticker;
the sun has set, 
but the lights still flicker

the sun has set, 
but the lights still flicker
(Still flicker)

the sun has set, 
but the lights still flicker
(Still flicker)

the sun has set, 
but the lights still flicker
(Still flicker)

Memory of a Town (Lyrics in description)

God Gave It A Name

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