"Who's that on the telephone"
|
The fisherman said
|
"Looks like a writer"
|
She turned her head
|
"Could be, we'll see"
|
Ma ring replied
|
"There were rumors when he came"
|
|
And as the evening fell
|
Around the old hotel
|
The stranger left his dial-tone
|
His place was gone
|
In the game
|
|
"He's down from the city
|
And he's here to think.
|
He pays his money"
|
She got another drink
|
"Who knows, his book
|
Is closed to you and I
|
We may never know his name"
|
|
The music drifted down
|
The same repeated sound
|
"If Nat King Cole
|
Can save his sole
|
He'll find his peace"
|
The fisherman eased his frame
|
"If I was asked
|
Just who's to blame
|
To read his past
|
I'd have to say
|
She's a woman..."
|
|
When all your cards are done
|
Just leave your share
|
And make your run
|
They'll burn your contacts down
|
Plans on fire
|
You know they've won
|
Just turn and walk away
|
And start again, a brand new day
|
In lonliness their aim will turn
|
Against themselves
|
For one more play
|
In the game
|
|
-----------------
|
The Game
|
| Cold Chisel |
