The town, the lake, the liquor stores

the soup is cold, the spoon is shiny

there’s hope for rent, the winter happens,

two hundred single ladies cry all night.


Knock on the door, there’s no one there.

Look at the road behind the



The empty fridge, the laceless shoes

the tea stained carpet, the howling



The days are like Italian ties,

behind the desks the time is ripening.

Macjobs, Macloves, Macfriends,


from nine to five, and forty hours a week.


Ain’t no place like Milwokee

the moll is always opened.

Ain’t no place like Milwokee

and people seem so funny.


Save up, save up for the rainy days,

and sullen girls and lonely ice cold beers

and if the cloud were gone away one day

it would be sunny and yet Milwokee.


You take your time, your walking home

talking softly to yourself stop along the


a suitcase’s waiting on the doorstep.


1929, when the cows were fat, a guy

had a revolver

and his first calss statson hat, he went

downtown shooting.


1929, when the cows said moo, a man

was broken harted

and his face was turnin’ blue, talking

‘bout something new,

he’s gonna leave the town, he would,

he could, he should.


gallery/flecha atrás