If one day in some faded seaside town, I turn into the fool I always feared I’d drown, Singing for women with their best years gone, Crooning “My Heart” with a cheap, trembling moan, Like some lounge act from a nowhere dive, Faking a spark just to stay alive. If they call me Tony, some burned-out star, Trading my soul for a bottle, a car, Hell, darling, I’m doing what I can, Downing cheap whiskey to feel like a man, Serenading old broads decked out in lights, Like Christmas trees on lonely nights. I know, in my drunken haze, each time, For a crowd of ghosts, I’ll sing that old rhyme, The one from the days when I was just Jack. Chorus: To be an hour, just one hour’s glow, An hour, sometimes, when the light’s low, An hour, just one, to shine and play, Pretty, pretty, pretty, and dumb all the way. If one day in some back-alley Macau den, I’m running a racket, a king of broken men, Surrounded by women who sigh and fade, If I’m done with singing, tired of the trade, Turned to hustling, making others sing my lies, Cash for their secrets, deals in disguise. If they call me Slick, with a crooked grin, Peddling fake dreams and bootleg gin, With a bankroll fat and a hand in every game, Owning every street, but none know my name. Still, I know, when the night’s gone quiet, In my smoke-filled hole with old men’s eyes, I’ll hum that tune, no matter the lies, The one from the days when I was just Jack. Chorus: To be an hour, just one hour’s glow, An hour, sometimes, when the light’s low, An hour, just one, to shine and play, Pretty, pretty, pretty, and dumb all the way. If one day in some heaven I never earned, I’m singing for angels, my heart half-burned, Crooning “Hallelujah” to wings of white, Missing the earth where it ain’t Sunday night. If they call me Father, the big man upstairs, Listed in the book between “Hope” and “Despair,” Letting my beard grow, playing the saint, Breaking my soul to soothe human complaints. Still, I know, when the stars go dim, In that holy quiet, with angels and sin, I’ll hear them sing, the saints and the damned, That old, lonesome song from the man I am, The one from the days when I was just Jack. Chorus: To be an hour, just one hour’s glow, An hour, sometimes, when the light’s low, An hour, just one, to shine and play, Pretty, pretty, pretty, and dumb all the way.
