Nancy

Nancy
Late in the afternoon, downtown hotel lights
come on at random and I feel a strange sort of lonely joy.
Then this girl comes by, wearing a torn tee shirt,
with iron-on letters misspelling the word "Nancy."

Up in my key-carded room she heads straight for the courtesy bar
and after four Bass Ales she said, 'Let's set sail."
Oh Nancy, we're the same, you and I, we both have the same strange
Nagging urge to survive.

I left too much to chance.
All I ever wanted was a girl in leather pants.
Nancy, nobody needs to know where we go.
Let's get behind that giant sheet music store on 44th.

I didn't understand her kind of love.
Still, I would have taken it.
What she said was full of half-truths (and full-truths.)
She said I was nothing but a "pop poet" and my shows were boring.
Now she's back, lending her shadow
to a city already known for shadows.

When I go out, people say, "Hey, are you going out tonight with Nancy?"
I say, "No, just going out for a late night bowl of spaghetti."