The Perfect Gig

I was lookin' for a bar, just like Diogenes
Full of drunks, but not just any drunks, you understand:
Philosopher drunks, and poet drunks--drunks trained by hand--
And beautiful women, they'd be perfectly drunk, too
Reclining against an upholstered rail with absolutely nothing else to do

(chorus)All these folks would be there, all the live-long day
And when I'd get good and warmed up, I'd come in and play
I'd sing all of my songs for them, each and every one
The sad ones and the happy ones, the songs without a name
And joy would fill the air like fizz, in a good champagne

The poets would all come up to me, when I was done
They'd shake my hand and clap my back, we'd have some fun
The philosopher drunks'd smile knowingly, and tilt their glasses at me too--
Too shy to clap, at least they wouldn't run
They'd tidy up their tables, and calculate the coming of the sun

(chorus)
And all the beautiful women--they'd line up at the door
And carry my guitars out to my car, one by one by one
And kiss my lips goodnight, Just like my mother did away back then
When I was very young

I just couldn't end it there--I'd have to take them home
And one would quote Spinoza, and the other Des-car-tes
And from the back a soft sweet voice would whisper Sophocles
And in the morning there'd be coffee, on the patio, for four--
And I'd never ever go a gigging anymore!