I'm gonna sit here 'til I finish my last cigarettenlazy sunday night, and every waitress added wrong on every checkna man comes up to pay, he's got one of them licorice drinks on his breathnand it takes me to the south of france, where i'm drinking down another glass,nand the children mixing water and mintnnAnd he says, baby will you miss me?nyou are only a phone call away, a pile of 10p pieces on holidaynnI'm gonna sit here 'til I finish my last cigarettenmiddle eastern music, it reminds me of those sunsets in hamametnnYeah, we talk until the morning, it lights up the skynand the breadless mourners watch with curious eye (sigh?)nnAnd this old arab at the bar, he tells usnnothing in life is sure, except that la vie, c'est dur sans confituresnnAnd he says,nwill i ever see you again?nwell, i am only half a world away,nbut you could write me a letter,nthere's something you forgot to say.nnI'm gonna sit here 'til I finish my last cigarettennLove's like oil, it's slippery and easily ignitednand i've noticed that my lovers they mark the time,nand i'm growing older by the hour,nmy outlook growing equally dour,nlife bittersweet but never sournnAnd he says,ndo you think we'll be great lovers someday?nnI say I am only a phone call away,nhand him a quarter and walk the other way ...