The coffee black and nearly cold   And I look back while hours pass by   A sheet of paper on the table torn to shreds   If you are able to solve the puzzle, try   It's my last script that you may hold   Or wipe away when the bar has closed   My last remains here in your hands and in the end   What I was writing for, I just don't know   Don't know      How many times to make youy understand   Or was it for the triumph of applauding hands   How many words I had to spell and all the stories I would tell   For the short and orgiastic turn when'd you say: well      What were they for, these black inked dreams   A guaranty that I was wise   And so called gods define an entrance for eternal life   Into a masterpeace of mine   All I wanted to be   Was extraordinary, extraordinary   And maybe I was wrong   How many people have I killed   With my suicidal songs         Janey diamond/1993