III You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;	25
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back	30
And the light crept up between the shutters
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed’s edge, where	35
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.

 t.s. eliot - from "Preludes" {THIS GUY IS FROM ST. LOUIS}

He woke up, the room was bare
He didn't see her anywhere.
He told himself he didn't care, pushed the window open wide,
Felt an emptiness inside to which he just could not relate
Brought on by a simple twist of fate.

He hears the ticking of the clocks
And walks along with a parrot that talks,
Hunts her down by the waterfront docks where the sailers all come in.
Maybe she'll pick him out again, how long must he wait
Once more for a simple twist of fate.

"thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season"

maureen