I slow down, Purple Avenue
To march around in April's shoes
Weathervanes remind
Of the summertimes that I've left behind

Money's gone, for Auld Lang Syne
I spent on eastern standard time
Whatever happened to my roll
September fell right through the hole
All I've got is empty pockets now

Why does August try so hard
To hoist me on my own petard
I've learned one thing from how we were
That an ounce of prevention's worth a pound of cure

The shadows fall but I cannot thread
The tenor of the things you said
All that's left is flesh and bone
Lights are on but no one's home
All I've got is empty pockets now

I spill myself another drink
I count the silver in the sink
The orchestra is blind
But I've never been the worrying kind

Subsequently and furthermore
I'll sleep right here on the draining board
I'll never be paroled
I like to drink them while they're cold
All I've got is empty pockets now

Copyright: JALMA MUSIC
Writer(s): THOMAS ALAN WAITS