Freeman Avenue. That's the place they stayed.
"Morgan Freeman in Paris" she sang.
"I was Morgan Freeman in Paris" he responded.
You are my sunshine
SunshineHe whispers in a dreamHe has been dreaming of herAnd of a song he can't quite manage to rememberIt might even be one of hisIt floats away from him like a fragrance of that woman in ColoradoThe one that walked away asShe was wearing whiteShe begins singing to himYou are my sunshineMy only sunshineHer standing by the windows at JALC in the sunsetEarly morning Saturdays, driving to the gigThe sunrise behind herHer making faces at him from behind the wheelPursing her lipsSlightly sticking out her tongueTheir signalFlashes of memoryThem walking down a streetWhere?Portland?Baltimore?Philadelphia?Greenpoint?Somerville?One of those cities which has made an art of trash.Recycled thrift store designIn storefrontsAnd restaurantsUnfinished or peeling ceilings.Hopefully done artfully and to codeHe was always certain there were paint chips in the food he was served.Detritus of the 20th century.Just like The Set of The Show.@@@Staying in an artists loft, surprised by a dog! Someone has discovered them!!No, it must have been later"Hold my hand, it gives me a feeling of security!"Him quoting himself.At a moment when he's more psychic than he intends to be.Screech of tires.
--"It's all downhill from here!"She enthused, just as he was getting a swelled head. Again."Dont quote me," he laughed! Not here, not now! You are creating your own future. The idea of it terrified him. As if he waste Joan Baez to her Dylan. Her Svengali.Plus she was flirting with The Comedian.Not funny.Not allowed!He couldn't Ask Her now.Not on stage, the ring box in his pants pocket.Hard as a cancer.God, she is beautiful when she laughs.Except when the Comedian is making her laugh. Touching her arm, admiring her bracelet.Damn, not tonight.And he was hoping for such great sex, too!Sunshine fading behind herThey had a fight that nightIn the darkWhen the warmth is gone from the day@@@@The light disappearing from his dining room window.Sunshine@@Walking through BrooklynHer holding his handCrossing the streetWas that the accident?He didn't see it.Remembered lifting the baby gently out of the streetHow fine it looked, crying, no bruises or blood evenMaybe 1 or 2No language yetBut beautiful blonde curlsShe said how it had been knocked to the groundAnd how it looked so much worseWhen the paramedics arrivedAnd the parent panic.Where his Old FaceComes in handy, age equals wisdom."I've seen this before""It will all be okay"Which is needed in the momentWords flowing when medicine and real help are still miles away.They tried to call him a hero.But he saw something in the toddlers eyes than made him run away.The dark eyes, pupils dilating like a junkie.Not sure if it was a sign of loss of oxygen or oncoming death.He didn't want to be around to find out.@@@One night, ConnecticutShe told him how she still rememberedAnd wove it into her life narrative about him.How his music and his "gifts"Proved that he was an angel.(and GOD how he needed to hear tTHAT!!)
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Free Man in Paris by Joni Mitchell
"Morgan Freeman in Paris" she sang.
"I was Morgan Freeman in Paris" he responded.
You are my sunshine
SunshineHe whispers in a dreamHe has been dreaming of herAnd of a song he can't quite manage to rememberIt might even be one of hisIt floats away from him like a fragrance of that woman in ColoradoThe one that walked away asShe was wearing whiteShe begins singing to himYou are my sunshineMy only sunshineHer standing by the windows at JALC in the sunsetEarly morning Saturdays, driving to the gigThe sunrise behind herHer making faces at him from behind the wheelPursing her lipsSlightly sticking out her tongueTheir signalFlashes of memoryThem walking down a streetWhere?Portland?Baltimore?Philadelphia?Greenpoint?Somerville?One of those cities which has made an art of trash.Recycled thrift store designIn storefrontsAnd restaurantsUnfinished or peeling ceilings.Hopefully done artfully and to codeHe was always certain there were paint chips in the food he was served.Detritus of the 20th century.Just like The Set of The Show.@@@Staying in an artists loft, surprised by a dog! Someone has discovered them!!No, it must have been later"Hold my hand, it gives me a feeling of security!"Him quoting himself.At a moment when he's more psychic than he intends to be.Screech of tires.
--"It's all downhill from here!"She enthused, just as he was getting a swelled head. Again."Dont quote me," he laughed! Not here, not now! You are creating your own future. The idea of it terrified him. As if he waste Joan Baez to her Dylan. Her Svengali.Plus she was flirting with The Comedian.Not funny.Not allowed!He couldn't Ask Her now.Not on stage, the ring box in his pants pocket.Hard as a cancer.God, she is beautiful when she laughs.Except when the Comedian is making her laugh. Touching her arm, admiring her bracelet.Damn, not tonight.And he was hoping for such great sex, too!Sunshine fading behind herThey had a fight that nightIn the darkWhen the warmth is gone from the day@@@@The light disappearing from his dining room window.Sunshine@@Walking through BrooklynHer holding his handCrossing the streetWas that the accident?He didn't see it.Remembered lifting the baby gently out of the streetHow fine it looked, crying, no bruises or blood evenMaybe 1 or 2No language yetBut beautiful blonde curlsShe said how it had been knocked to the groundAnd how it looked so much worseWhen the paramedics arrivedAnd the parent panic.Where his Old FaceComes in handy, age equals wisdom."I've seen this before""It will all be okay"Which is needed in the momentWords flowing when medicine and real help are still miles away.They tried to call him a hero.But he saw something in the toddlers eyes than made him run away.The dark eyes, pupils dilating like a junkie.Not sure if it was a sign of loss of oxygen or oncoming death.He didn't want to be around to find out.@@@One night, ConnecticutShe told him how she still rememberedAnd wove it into her life narrative about him.How his music and his "gifts"Proved that he was an angel.(and GOD how he needed to hear tTHAT!!)
==
Free Man in Paris by Joni Mitchell
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