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
Copyright © Tyler Minisce | Year Posted 2015
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