Drops from My Faucet - Nanci Griffith, London Symphony Orchestra

The drops from the faucet like a nervous heart

Beat on my porcelain sink a rhythm avant-garde

I page through the phone book, reach for my fountain pen

Is he comin' in for the holidays to haunt me again?

I call up Grand Central, «information please

Is that nickel line on time?

Oh fine!»

It’s a hair-do with a wave

We both forgot and forgave last time

A peddlar of pots and pans down on Union Square

Said City Hall wants us off the street

There’s no Christmas in the air

Some high-brows were waiting

Carnation bright lapels

Their big cars lined the curbs outside those grand hotels

I passed a marquee, Third Avenue

«Ramona» with Loretta Young and I swung myself around

And (headed) uptown to the train

So this is New year’s eve another year has passed

We wait so patiently, (but) still they come and go so fast

I stand on this platform, wait for that basket of light

And the sound of the whistle screamin' out

Like some hot trumpet in the night

And … as I’m waitin' I wonder why and where …

And what went wrong

But this song don’t tell no lies

It was just a quick good-bye, yeah