The walls are closing in
and the woodblock prints are melting
They say that Jimmy’s opened its doors again
But is what’s on the menu still the same?
Have we lost the recipes forever?
Or are we just hoping for the best?
Well, hope is not a bad thing to have
Hope gives us much needed rest
The barefoot contessa starts to speak
She mentions everything that still could be
And how to start up the brittle fires again
Even while the world floats out to sea
Things might not be how you remember them
But nothing should ever stay the same
Change is constant and it’s not a race
It might however be a game
There might be echoes of a mariachi band
You’ll get there in plenty of good time
There might be the sounds of castanets
And taco shells are playing outta rhyme
Annabelle is talking to me
like I’m some kinda Chinaman
She sounds like she’s got a plum
rolling around in her mouth
She pretentious and an alcoholic
She’s a pseudo intellectual too
This isn’t old Blighty, baby
Just remember that you’re going on 52
Sometimes I think about hungry Ana
And if she’s finally getting enough
Did all I could until it got too easy
Sorry but I just couldn’t give you my love
I might have been many things
But some things I could never be
Only alcohol ever changed my moods
And made me someone that wasn’t me
Never wanted to hurt anyone
I guess that was part of the problem
Trying to please everyone except myself
Never knowing how low I had fallen
Thought I would never lose you
But I did and I took it hard
Tried to lose myself going with the flow
But nothing could ever break the fall
I tried to stay together and tried to stay real
But we were playing co-starring roles
Don’t know where things went so off the tracks
Don’t know how we ended up in a hole
I was guilty but I was loyal
I thought that was good enough
But then everything became mixed up
And relevance became just fluff
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