She works nights at the café on Kensington Boulevard
Where her clientele don’t look too well when they come in after dark
She sells them carrot cakes and cappuccinos, and other things besides
Some come in for comfort, others come to hide.
And if you’re looking for love, don’t look too hard
It’s a magician’s deck and you’ve been dealt your cards
And if you find something, don’t ask if it’s real
Because you earn your love, or you learn how to steal.
There’s a couple in the corner looking through a magazine
Their coy advances and lover’s glances somehow seem obscene.
And the girls that come in twos and threes seem to sit and talk for days
Of boyfriends and of other men, criticise their clumsy ways.
So if you’re looking for love, don’t look too hard
It’s a magician’s deck and you’ve been dealt your cards.
And if you find something don’t ask if it’s real
Because you earn your love or you learn how to steal.
The cars hiss by her window. They wail and scream and moan.
Full to the racks with broken heroes looking for a home.
And tonight they’re going all the way, all the way to the city
She wipes the tables and remembers the days when she was pretty.
So if you’re looking for love, don’t look too hard
It’s a magician’s deck and you’ve been dealt your cards
And if you find something, don’t ask if it’s real
Because you earn your love …
blackmarksonawhitepage 