Outside Looking Inn

Hiding again from the dazzling sun Why am I here, I’ve no clue There’s no necessity to walk around No urgent business to do Sounds like I’m killing the time, but I’m not It is exactly the opposite Time is the killer in this endless plot With a space, an accomplice of it It’s never a conscious purpose of mine To sit in the Outside Looking Inn One time its whiskey, one time its wine And sometime a deluted gin I wonder if Mr. Debussy comes round With his friends Ravel and Satie I guess they would talk to themselves rather loud It would have been quite a party And I can imagine me in Deux Magots Mr. Jean Paul Sartre puts his pipe out And says if one proves what existence is for I’ll buy for the house a round I’m pleasing myself with illusions, you’d say I have to agree, in this place Out of sight, my time shuffles away With its old accomplice, a space.