Here's the fallen son on holiday meeting her eyes about halfway
Looking out, it's killed many men, and I've been all of them inside a week
See the man at the bar who got too drunk to speak
Painting doors, that's all, mundane as it is. Gaze in a dream that wasn't his
That's about the top of the (incomprehensible) to fall away
To keep it together for long, this half-holiday
From the bar they walk to Place Pigalle. The taxi waited out; "good night, sleep well"
Now it's just a step to the door; they want someone more to bring her away
Out of this dark, bitter, rainy half-holiday
