Cafe Noir

A man sinks his breath deep into a saxophone He fills a smoky room with its tenor tone All the clichés are here From the femme fatale to the trodden tramp The atmosphere borders on camp Be you from a Manhattan high rise or a Brooklyn broken home At the Café Noir the blue don’t drink alone So take a seat in a booth or at the bar By the depressed comedian or the fallen star Everyone here is friends with the bartender From the poorest soul to the biggest spender He can be a wise old sage or a shoulder to cry on He’s been known to spot a drink or two for those out of money for buyin The band here does not set the mood They simply play off the harmony of the room Loaded .45's wise guy’s and private eyes The words spoken here are cynical or lies But can they really help their lugubrious prose? After all the world is a mad house When people come here It’s not a bar they walk in But a world they walk out There are many treatments for those shell shocked by that outside loony bin Namely whisky, scotch, bourbon or gin The Café Noir can’t save you from your blues But it can give you a glass to fall into when you lose So come out of your home, blood soaked gutter or office The band is on point and you can numb yourself to life’s problems; so pompous At the Café Noir you will never drink alone Here the blue will always have a home