After Hours

There are billboards in heaven And 7-Elevens, and 24 hour arcade bars A lazy river that runs between the suburbs and slums And speed limits enforced by radar I live by myself in a duplex for now With a pretty good view of the pyramids At night I take the train home, sinking to new lows And picture you practicing pirouettes I miss our adventures, East Village winters Acting out True West by lamp light You looked like After Hours era Catherine O'Hara You were really on one that night Saint Simons Island, your eyes cutting diamonds The water was clear, almost too clear And embarrassed in Paris to fuck on the terrace Who cares, you said, "they do have rules here" There's a Diet Coke fountain, no good Italian There's free shuffleboard in the main hall Big budget productions of the lives of your loved ones The good stuff is behind a paywall Don't know where you've been lately 'cause I don't watch the dailies But I imagine you back up in Lake Hill Taking down windchimes, running through stop signs To pick up Clementine's pain pills The last talk we had I know you weren't really mad But it sticks in my head for some reason It's crazy I know, I've got nowhere to go But up here, I wear my seatbelt