The Unauthorized Ballad Of Alan D. Zimmer

A fog lurks about this part of town, I know almost for sure.
I heard it through the grapevine.
It's like a wrinkled broadsheet tumbling down Broad Street;
Old ads for a lime green couch and a slightly used second-hand blender;
Things you'd have to hunt for, overshadowed by the screaming headline:
THREE BODIES FOUND DEAD, JEWELRY MISSING.
LAKERS LOSE PLAYOFFS, 4-1. WILL JACKSON LEAVE?

Cold wind always makes things worse;
Funny how the weather changes you and me.

It sprints down the fast lane, fast;
It slows, it rears up, it shakes its head, and keeps going,
but changes its mind before changing direction.
It has a mission. I have a mission too. Never talk to it.
Just keep walking. Pretend you can't hear.
Pretend you didn't see it coming up to you from the right.
You're in a hurry, you don't have time, it's not yours anyway.
It will ruin your life. You will ruin mine. It's life as sunshine;
Life as something you wear from a department store;
Life as something you wash and drive once a week;
Life as something you pick the right colors for;
Life as something you order from a catalog.
That's all I've got in my pocket. Sorry.

But whenever the cold wind makes things worse,
we just laugh at how the weather changes you and me.

And so you've got a feeling now,
and I can't stop myself from remembering my dreams,
and reliving them in living Technicolor.
You're my Technicolor lover;
The world was black and white before you,
but then you had to walk into the room;
And now you're walking out, and I can't think of a single reason to stop you.
You invented "perfect" anyway, not me.
Always hated the word, in fact.
Maybe someday on a subway, I'll catch a familiar face;
But most likely not. I hope not, at least.
So I'll see you around, in black and white, on a lime green couch,
unable to recapture, unable to remember, unable to recare;
Because it used to be that true love was something you wore;
Love was something we washed and drove once a week;
Love was something with matching colors;
Love was something I ordered from a catalog.
And now you're gone.

So why did the weather have to change you and me?
The cold wind just made things worse.

I can't believe it escaped me again the other day;
I was just walking by myself among the night and lights,
the storm of humanity in New York City that swallows us whole.
I had nothing to catch it with and so it went,
and so it goes, and so it always goes, and so it went, and so it goes,
but it could have been a brilliant career;
Something I built in the underground-club circuit of life.
New! Off-Off-Broadway! Seminal talent! A refreshing voice!
I must be off-off-my-mind to still be here tonight,
at the same spot I've walked over now ninety-six times, trying to catch it again.
I always work up a cold sweat (cigarette) doing these repetitive mental sit-ups.
They told me it's why I have so much trouble in the first place.
I told them it helps, so fuck off. In a cold sweat, I'm your marionette.
I should chase it tonight, I should really get after it;
Run around street corners, talk to that girl with black glasses.
What do you read? What do you need?
Do you want to live tonight? (Do I?) Let's do something to this town,
instead of always letting it do things to us.
(Drugs, baby;
Sex, baby;
Blood, baby;
Like magic;)
But I'll forget it when it's over; it's me--
Sorry for your help, thanks for your time.
Look at the clock, we slept it around; isn't that lovely?
And my cold sweat and cigarette walked out the door, lost again.
There isn't a Greek goddess in sight tonight, not even a Helen,
not in the usual places anyway--too tired for it--
no street corners or dark one-mattress rooms,
no coffee shops or balconies,
no jazz clubs or cigarette stores,
neither your place nor mine.
Not tonight, darling; New York isn't Kalifornia.
It's not even art, anyway--art isn't inspiration;
Art is something I wear from a department store;
Art is something I wash and drive once a week;
Art is something I pick the right colors for;
Art is something I order from a catalog.
It's not you, though, baby, it's me.

Cold wind just makes things worse.
Funny how the weather changes us.