Of a Friday Night - Anaïs Mitchell

Just across from the hospital

Still in sight of the red lights

A couple blocks from the orthodox church

That’s where the old poet lived

In his eyeglasses and his necktie

At the window looking down

On the young men passing by

On the fullness of the town

Full of them good time gamblers

Full of their restless wives

Full of them midnight writers

Out in the quarter on a Friday night

Out in the brightness of a Friday night

And the big horns blowed and the pianos played

And the music rose to the old man’s ears

I guess those were the olden days

I guess those were the golden years

And now the town is empty

Empty as a mirror

Empty as the harbor and the barber’s chair

Where did the old poet go?

I asked around

Nobody knows

Maybe I came too early

Maybe I came too late

I’m waiting in the shadows of the scaffolds

Of the old cafés where you told me to wait

And I’ve got this lingering feeling

It’s like I’ve slipped between

Finger of the century

I know you know what I mean

I’ll be a good time gambler

I’ll be a restless wife

I’ll be a midnight writer

Out in the quarter on a Friday night

Call me good time gambler

Call me a restless wife

Call me a midnight writer

Out in the quarter on a Friday night

Out in the brightness of a Friday night

Call me the brightness of a Friday night