The overhead fan with the missing blade
Cut thru the haze and the honky-tonk,
Steel guitars and glittering shades,
A broken window with bars at the back,
That someone used to pass a key sometimes.

Blues and country, back to back,
DeSotos and Packards, Aces and Eights.
Frankie Machine and his golden arm,
And a cigaret that did no harm
That I lit in your lips at the end of love.

We could hear the scene like a distant train,
We could see the street cut apart by the slats,
We could know exactly where Roger was
From when his light went on and off,
We had it timed, we had it pat.

For near three years our time stood still.
Under his cowl he kept a smile,
And he somehow seemed to misplace his scythe,
Left it leaning behind some mishung door
That wouldn't swing to on a humid summer night.

And that's what got us, that broken door,
The last alert, the noisy hinge,
Silenced as sweat beneath your skirt,
And the power off from a thunder-surge,
When they came into the room, and found you there.

I was down the hall, I got away,
I heard the sounds, the fatal shots,
The sandpaper laugh when they uncovered your skin,
I didn't even stop to stare,
I never dealt another hand.
Yes, and that was the day I quit the band...
That was the day I quit the band.