rum covered glasses

i have been living out of train stations...seeing the sad old folks come and go...i've been living out of rest stops...the 'vince lombardi' in jersey...the indiana tornados are wheezing down the hi-way...my lover gone away, someone sees her at an arby's in connecticut, and yet here i am in the big city, missing her...and the hick straight from the klan laced areas of mississippi gets to bask in her neverending beauty...some dirty scumbag in brooklyn gets to look upon her multi-coloured eyes...some good-ole-boy gets to gaze at my flower south of atlanta...a jesus freak in wisconsin is able to witness what i once had...upstate new york, texas, and god knows where else...they all are reluctant witnesses to my past...all i have is the amber-frozen memory...do i want to phone nova scotia tonite and risk waking the neighbourhood, do i want to phone washington d.c. and risk waking the wife, do i want to phone ireland and risk waking hungry priests...of course i do, i want to phone them all, and reminisce...