Tom Waits – Time from Rain Dogs (1985) /acoustic scrowl/
((“Well, the smart money’s on Harlow and the moon is in the street, the shadow boys are breaking all the laws. And you’re east of East St. Louis, and the wind is making speeches, and the rain sounds like a round of applause. Napoleon is weeping in the Carnival saloon; his invisible fiancée is in the mirror. The band is going home; it’s raining hammers, it’s raining nails. Yes, it’s true, there’s nothing left for him down here. And it’s time time time, and it’s time time time that you love.”
The cold wind bites deep enough to draw blood. Sluggishly, it wrenches out a year of despondency and spreads it round on the stale, grey sidewalk: roughly sorted to a stack of throttled opportunities, a heap of battered friendships and a stupid, gaping hole of nothing. He sits on the cold cement; a tattered newspaper’s temporary shelter buffeted away; a clenched fist caught by gritted teeth. He tastes metal and spies a kind of hope.))