Out on the fringe
|
Where the shallows meet the scratchlands
|
Out where hope and the highway ends
|
You can park or cruise
|
Both ways you lose
|
This is Flytown now my friend
|
|
You take a walk on Bleak Street
|
Tonight could be the night you crash
|
Then you turn and stop
|
Start to fingerpop
|
You think you hear a wailin' combo
|
You climb a flight of twisted stairs
|
Some cat says buddy
|
|
[Chorus:]
|
If you've got eyes
|
To rhythmatize
|
Bring your flat hat and your ax
|
'Cause tonight at ten
|
We'll be workin' again
|
At the Teahouse on the Tracks
|
|
The Siegel Bros. were slammin' out a baion
|
So slick it should have been a crime
|
Irene and Flocko and little Amy Khan
|
Lead off the big front line
|
The crowd was bouncin' in sync with the pulse
|
You get a case of party feet
|
(Then the room turns bright
|
And fills up with light)
|
And then from somewhere deep inside you
|
Some frozen stuff begins to crack
|
Better hurry
|
|
[Chorus:]
|
Take the T-Line to Bleak and Divine
|
Just above the Good Time Flats
|
It's your last chance
|
To learn how to dance
|
At the Teahouse on the Tracks
|
|
On Sunday morning
|
You're back at the wheel
|
You're feelng calm and crisp and strong
|
|
[Chorus:]
|
If it feels right
|
Just drive for the light
|
That's the groovessential facts
|
Someday we'll all meet at the end of the street
|
At the Teahouse on the Tracks
|
|
-----------------
|
Teahouse On The Tracks
|
| Donald Fagen |
