Baby I feel like a spent cigarette

Snuffed out on the windowsill

By the last awake between a pair

Of new lovers in some stifling attic apartment somewhere off the Broad Street line

Or in Boston or Brooklyn anywhere like that is fine for the sake of this simile, they're all the same to a podunk boy like me, anyway the

Sun broke through the clouds bout an hour ago but I still don't feel much like dancing

Don't feel much like singing or romancing

But if you were here I'd hold you close like a lighter in the wind

And that cold cherry would glow red again

And you could forgive those years we never knew each other

If that was even the one you were talking about

Don't get too close it makes me wanna run

Yeah I'm afraid I'm just another one

Don't get too close it makes me wanna run

Yeah I know I'm just another one

Well there's no sense trying to stay dry

Beneath these hurricane skies

Last report says the city just might pass through the eye

Like a camel through the eye of a needle

I was Flipping through channels and I saw Casablanca on one of those classic movie stations and I'll tell ya as I get older

As time goes by

I understand why bogart let her get on that plane without him.

It wasn't some act of self sacrifice for the French resistance or anything noble and brave like that

It was an an act of cowardice and fear in the face of the overwhelming power of true love

He let the dream die and ran off to dim his light drinking gin with the boys and I really can't blame him. I really get it. It makes sense to me.