(The Street)
Angel:
New York City --
Mark:
Uh huh
Angel:
Center of the universe
Collins:
Sing it girl --
Angel:
Times are shitty
But I'm pretty sure they can't get worse
Mark:
I hear you
Angel:
It's a comfort to know
When you're singing the hit-the-road blues
That anywhere else you could possibly go
After New York would be a pleasure cruise
Collins:
Now you're talking
Well, I'm thwarted by a metaphysic puzzle
And I'm sick of grading papers -- that I know
And I'm shouting in my sleep, I need a muzzle
All this misery pays no salary, so
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Oh sunny Santa Fe would be nice
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And leave this to the roaches and mice
Collins:
Oh -- oh
All:
Oh --
Angel:
You teach?
Collins:
-- I teach -- Computer Age Philosophy
But my students would rather watch TV
Angel:
America
All:
America!
Collins:
You're a sensitive aesthete
Brush the sauce onto the meat
You could make the menu sparkle with rhyme
You could drum a gentle drum
I could seat guests as they come
Chatting not about Heidegger, but wine!
(with homeless people in the shadows)
Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Our labors would reap financial gains
All:
Gains, gains, gains
Collins:
We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And save from devastation our brains
Homeless:
Save our brains
All:
We'll pack up all our junk and fly so far away
Devote ourselves to projects that sell
We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Forget this cold Bohemian hell
Oh--
All:
Oh--
Collins:
Do you know the way to Santa Fe?
You know, tumbleweeds...prairie dogs...
Yeah