Verse 1 The marquee is dropping its plastic-molded words In a puddle full of feathers from some oil-slicked birds And the ticket-booth lady’s got a toothpick in her teeth Watching the winos check their fortunes underneath You got an expired passport and a dry-point pen And a coupon for a dinner you can’t claim again While the popcorn machine is burning yesterday’s oil And the radiator’s bringing all the sediment to boil. Chorus And you’re paying top dollar for a seat in the dark Where the projectionist is sleeping through the cinematic spark Yeah, you’re looking for a hero on a bed-sheet screen But the celluloid is choked on a handful of grease And the upright bass is walking like a man with a cane Left out on the corner in a heavy sheet of rain. Verse 2 Now, Barnacle Benny’s got a limp in his stride From a run-in with a bouncer down on Oceanside He’s scraping out a living with a bucket and a rag And a family of mice in his laundry bag And the late-night ushers are all folding their chairs With their pockets full of lint and a couple of prayers Leaving nothing but wrappers and an old plastic cup For the early-bird janitor to come and sweep up. Chorus And you’re paying top dollar for a seat in the dark Where the projectionist is sleeping through the cinematic spark Yeah, you’re looking for a hero on a bed-sheet screen But the celluloid is choked on a handful of grease And the upright bass is walking like a man with a cane Left out on the corner in a heavy sheet of rain. Verse 1 The marquee is dropping its plastic-molded words In a puddle full of feathers from some oil-slicked birds And the ticket-booth lady’s got a toothpick in her teeth Watching the winos check their fortunes underneath You got an expired passport and a dry-point pen And a coupon for a dinner you can’t claim again While the popcorn machine is burning yesterday’s oil And the radiator’s bringing all the sediment to boil. Chorus And you’re paying top dollar for a seat in the dark Where the projectionist is sleeping through the cinematic spark Yeah, you’re looking for a hero on a bed-sheet screen But the celluloid is choked on a handful of grease And the upright bass is walking like a man with a cane Left out on the corner in a heavy sheet of rain. Outro Yeah, in a heavy sheet of rain... With a tear in your ticket. And a glass full of rain. Just another continuous screening of a black-and-white mistake. [The raspy saxophone trails off into a long, wheezing breath; the dull clatter of theater seats flipping up echoes in the distance, followed by the heavy hum of an empty projector running on a loop]
