Original subtitles

Come on, people, and listen to me

I'll tell you the story of Carl and Joey.

The girls they fucked and the women they laid.

This is the story of the love they made.

Now, don't get excited Be patient, please.

Just put your hand on your lover's knee.

And during the movie if you get a chance.

Put your hand inside her pants.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

And now perhaps you are ready to see.

The story of the place Clichy.

So come and let us spend a while.

With Joey and his French friend Carl.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Gentlemen.

How much will you give me for staying with you tonight?

I must have, as a matter of fact, 200 francs for my rent,

which is due tomorrow.

Whatever you want, I'll do it.

If you want me to suck you off,

or if you want me to do it dog-fashion,

it is all the same to me.

My breasts are still firm and exciting.

See?

I know men who would pay 1,000 francs to sleep with me,

but I cannot be bothered hunting them up.

Tell your friend to get ready.

I will sleep with him first.

What's the time?

Better see what's up. No! You go.

I'm afraid of her.

Hmm. Okay.

She must be out of her mind.

She's smearing the walls with her poems. Look.

"Pocahontas."

Claire de Terre.

"This is the BBC home service."

"Chateau. Picasso."

My nose is red.

The moon is down.

Balzac.

De Gaulle!

Balzac. Balzac.

"Shakespeare?"

Here.

Uh, 200 francs.

Oh!

Eh?

"Cowboy."

"Shit the fucking British."

Okay.

"Gulfstream."

No, no, me first! She's dangerous!

Wine.

Paper and pencil.

All right, gentlemen, my revolver.

- What? - The one in my black bag.

I feel like shooting somebody.

You had a good time for your 200 francs.

Now it's my turn!

Joey! See if there's a gun in her bag!

Joey, see if there's a gun in her bag-Ow!

Ow! Ow!

Ow! Jesus Christ!

Ow!

Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

No! No! No!

Joey! Joey! Throw water on her! Quick!

She's going to have a fit!

Pardon. E-E-Excuse me, gentlemen.

I'm very... nervous...

this evening.

No.

- American? - Yeah.

I don't want to be known here. Understand?

You've made a faux pas.

Oh, this one. Is this really French?

Oh, it's excellent French.

And yet it isn't.

I mean...

I don't read so many books.

It's too much for my feeble brain.

There are lots of other things to do in life.

Too fat?

You're marvelous. You're like a Renoir.

Renoir?

Renoir?

Are we going to see more of each other?

I want to ask you a question.

I want you to do me a great favor.

Will you do it if I ask you?

Sure. But how?

I mean money.

Oh.

Here.

That's all I've got.

It's the best I can do.

Shit!

Damn.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Shit. Stop!

Stop. Stop.

Stop!

That's enough.

Carl?

Carl, is that you?

Carl?

Hey, Carl!

I'm hungry!

Oh! So you're awake!

What's the matter? Are you sick? No, I'm hungry. Ravenous.

You got any change? Nope. I'm cleaned out.

Not even a franc? Don't worry about francs right now.

I brought a girl home with me.

She can't be more than 14, but she says she's 17.

I just gave her a lay!

Did you hear me? I just gave her a lay!

Yeah, yeah. A lay, yeah?

She's a virgin.

You mean, she was.

Do you want to look at the sheets?

Suppose I'll have to throw them away now.

I can't send them to the laundry. They'd suspect me of having committed a crime.

Hey, Joey.

Joey?

Can I come in?

Do you want to see Colette? I'll show her to you.

Make some light, Joey.

This is Colette.

That's her.

We've got to do something for her, Joey.

She's got no place to stay.

I found her in the street, walking around in a trance.

A little demented, I thought at first, but she's okay.

She's not very bright, but she's a good sort.

Probably from a good family.

She's just a kid. You'll see.

Maybe I'll marry her when she comes of age.

Anyway, I spent my last cent buying her a meal.

Too bad you had to go to bed without dinner.

You should have been with us.

We had oysters, shrimps, lobster and a wonderful wine.

It was a Chablis, year 19...

Fuck the year! I'm hungry! I want money!

Take it easy. Take it easy, Joey.

I've always got a few francs for emergency.

Don't worry. There'll be one or two here.

Say "bonjour, " Colette.

Colette.

This is Colette. What do you think of her?

She's a little idiot, but look at those tits.

I don't believe she's 17, but she swears!

Look here.

Pretty ripe for 14.

Of course I'm French, Colette.

We don't speak Belgian.

She might be slow sometimes,

but you should take a look at our sheets.

Then get her to wash them.

There's enough she can do around here.

So you want her to stay? You know it's illegal. We could go to jail for this.

Do you speak English?

He is English.

Now say good-bye.

Jesus. Take her away.

Keep her locked up.

I'm not going to be responsible for what happens around here when you're away.

Now get out!

Out!

Hmm. We've got a serious problem on our hands, Joey.

And you've got to help me.

We can't let her fall into the hands of the police.

If we do, they'll send her away.

And they'll send us away too. Yeah.

The thing is what to tell the concierge.

Maybe I'll say that she's a cousin of mine here on a visit.

Nights when I go to work you take her to the movies,

or take her for a walk.

You could teach her geography or something like that.

And besides, you'll improve your French. Sure, sure.

But for God's sake, remember, don't knock her up.

Can't think of abortions right now.

And anyway I don't know where my Hungarian doctor lives anymore.

Good night.

Hey, Joey.

Do you remember those girls from the restaurant at Place Blanche?

Remember that big, tall, thin, black-haired girl with the long cigarette holder?

And-And the big, blonde, bulbous German one...

that kept sitting in a corner all night and laughing?

And then the American one with the red hair?

There were two girls from the cafe.

We picked both of them up one day.

We took both of them to our flat.

And the redheaded one gave Carl the clap.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

The dark-haired girl took off her shoe.

She smiled at Joey and then she was through.

He tried everything but just his luck.

The one from Jamaica just wouldn't fuck.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Now, come on. Brush your teeth. Be a good girl.

Do like this. Up, down, up, down. Up, down.

Up, down. That's it. Up, down, up, down. No, not with the head.

Just the brush. Just the brush. Hmm? Up, down. Come on.

Sad-eyed girl from the grocery store.

Her American husband didn't love her anymore.

He deserted her He vanished away.

And she wants to speak English now night and day.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

They would go to a movie and then for a walk.

And to the apartment for some fun and talk.

She would sleep with one or she would sleep with the other.

As long as they spoke English it really didn't matter.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Is it Carl?

Is it Carl?

Say it in English.

Little Colette She has no sense.

Serving the breakfast without her pants.

Spoiling the coffee Burning the eggs.

All of her brains are between her legs.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Baby Colette She's all grown up.

Sweeping the floor and washing the tub.

Cleaning the dishes and ironing the clothes.

What she's thinking God only knows.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Then there was Jeanne from the Herald Tribune.

Bringing bottles of wine up to their room.

They could squeeze her tits and rub her crack.

But the thought of fucking drove her quite mad.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

At the thought of a cock inside her cunt.

She would always begin to smash the place up.

She would weep and screech and scream and cry.

And then come back for another try.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Oh.

Quiet days in Clichy.

Hey, look at Colette.

The homeless waif-cum-combination of Cinderella, concubine and cook.

Sometimes she disappears for days. She never tells us why.

Once we followed her for a whole day.

It was like following an animal or a sleepwalker.

All she did was to aimlessly ramble from one street to another,

stopping to peer at shop windows, resting on a bench among the birds,

buying lollipops, standing for minutes on end as if in a trance,

and then striking out again in the same aimless fashion.

We followed her for hours,

to discover nothing but that we had a child on our hands.

Hah.

What does she intend to do now? Keep walking, I suppose.

But she's done that for so long.

When I'm on my job at the paper, you've got to fuck her.

You know, she's able to fuck her brains out all night...

and be ready for more in the morning.

If you don't, I'll never get out of bed this way.

As it I've given up all my writing because of that little bitch.

I've already done that every day for a whole week.

She's got all her brains in her cunt, the little half-wit.

But you told me this week that you would marry her when she came of age.

But of course, Joey. Of course I will.

She's just a child.

She's so simpleminded and so beautiful.

Look at her, Joey. Look. Look, look!

She's gone. Disappeared.

She can't have disappeared. Nobody disappears.

It happens.

I hope her parents haven't found her. Or the police.

Joey, you're right. This is the end.

They'll be coming along for me soon, and for you too.

I'm not that serious about Colette.

She has no attraction for me.

I'm thinking of Nys.

I'm in love with her.

We've been good friends.

Colette, that poor soul, she has no idea what to do about herself.

But Nys...

Every time I leave her I have a feeling of a day well spent.

She's still hanging out at the Cafe Wepler.

Yes, we're really good friends now. No question of money anymore.

I bring her little gifts, but that's different.

Nights when I can't see Nys, when she's taken, I...

I wander around down there by myself, stopping off at little bars in the side streets,

subterranean dives where other girls are plying

their trade in stupid, senseless fashion.

Sometimes, out of sheer boredom, I take one on,

even though it leaves a taste of ashes.

Sometimes I'm wishing I'm like her-lazy.

A female owning nothing but an attractive cunt.

How wonderful to put one's cunt to work and use one's brains for pleasure.

A good meal, a good fuck. What better way to pass the day?

Floating with the tide, nothing more.

That's how I dream after spending the day with Nys in the open.

I never pump her about her past.

It's always about the future we're talking.

At least she's talking about the future.

Like so many French women, her dream is to find a house in the country,

somewhere in the Midi preferably.

She doesn't care much about Paris. It's unhealthy, she says.

"And what would you do with yourself to pass the time away?" I want to ask.

"What would I do?" she answered.

"I'd do nothing. Nothing, of course.

Just live."

What an idea.

What a sane idea.

It's an idea I've never flirted with.

To accomplish it, one- one must have an empty mind,

or else a full, rich one.

It would be better to have an empty mind.

Now and then I induce her to take the afternoon off.

We go to little places along the Seine and

take the train to some nearby forest...

where we lay down in the grass, fucking to our hearts' content.

I envy her phlegm, her indolence.

I could urge her to talk about it at length-about doing nothing, I mean.

Just to watch her eat is inspiring.

She's lazy, yes. Lazy as sin.

But everything she talks about is interesting,

even when it's about nothing.

She enjoys every morsel of food,

which she selects with great care.

By care I don't mean concern about calories and vitamins.

No, she's very careful to choose the things she likes...

because she relishes them.

She can drag the meal out interminably,

her good humor constantly augmenting,

her indolence becoming more and more seductive,

her spirits growing keener, livelier, brighter.

There are no worms to devour her conscience,

no cares which she can't throw off...

floating with the tide, nothing more.

She will produce no children, contribute nothing to the welfare of the community,

leave no mark upon the world in going.

But wherever she goes,

she'll make life easier, more attractive, more fragrant.

And that is no little thing.

To fall in love with happiness.

To become as useless as possible.

To develop a conscience as tough as a crocodile's skin.

And when old and no longer attractive,

to buy a fuck if needs be or buy a dog and train him to do what's what.

Die when the time comes, naked and alone,

without guilt, without regret,

without remorse.

I have a friend.

A wonderful friend.

Behind the golden sun.

Yeah

I have a friend.

A wonderful friend.

Behind the golden sun.

Joey. Joey, look.

Colette. Colette in the car. Joey.

Yes, I must say it looks like her.

It was her in that car.

That means that they've caught her.

Her parents.

Now they'll be coming along for both of us.

Joey, you know this is serious.

God. I hope it's her parents who are coming and not the police.

Joey.

Joey, they're here.

They? Who are they?

Colette and her mother.

They're here, in my room.

Yeah?

Joey?

Did she leave her watch here?

They say they're looking for a watch.

What watch?

What mother? And what's the matter?

The mother.

Colette's mother's here.

And there's a man. I don't know who he is.

Perhaps a detective.

I'll introduce...

Are you a writer? Mm-hmm.

Do you write in French?

I'm sorry. I must bemoan the fact that although I've been here in France,

this exquisite country of yours, some five or six years,

and although I'm conversant with your magnificent... literature...

I translate myself occasionally...

my native inadequacies have prevented me...

from mastering your beautiful language sufficiently...

to express myself as I wish.

Yes. I'm working on an essay...

intended to show the relations...

between Marcel Proust's metaphysics and the occult tradition.

Particularly the doctrine of Hermes Trimestigus.

Hermes Trismegiste.

Whom I like very much.

Gentlemen, you must understand...

that this is a very serious matter.

You must know, as I told you before,

that Colette is only 15 years old.

She ran away from home before.

This could bring you 15 years in jail...

if I would bring this case before the court.

Perhaps you don't know that.

Yes, of course.

Monsieur will not press the case against you...

on the condition, of course, that you promise never to see Colette again.

Colette, say good-bye to the gentlemen.

Joey, you saved my life.

Or maybe it was Proust.

Let's get out of here. Come on, Joey. Where shall we go?

Belgium?

No. Belgians are boring.

Come on, Joey. Look at your map. Where do you think?

I know it. Luxembourg.

Bitch. But the mother- did you have a look at her?

You know, she could be a duchess or a marquise.

The moment I saw her, I fell in love with her.

CafeJuden-Frei.

Parlez-vous Anglais? Oui, Oui.

Then let me tell you this.

Though I'm not a Jew, I look upon you as an idiot.

Haven't you anything better to think of?

You're swallowing your own shit.

Listen, you fucked-up piece of cheese.

Do you know what you are?

You are an old cunt.

Joey, look. Paris again. Yeah.

I feel like going out and getting myself a dose of real clap.

Those Luxembourg cunts are full of buttermilk.

A dose of clap or something anyway.

Luxembourg.

That prosperous combination off at and cows.

You know, it's better to die like a louse in Paris...

than live in Luxembourg on the fat of the country.

I don't feel like clap now.

Anyway, I think I've got a dose already.

My cock's feeling itchy.

Joey, for Christ's sake, where do you think I could have got it?

My friend, if you've got it, there's no great harm in getting it again.

Get a double dose. Spread it abroad.

Infect the entire continent.

Better a venereal disease than a moribund peace and quiet.

You know, now I know what makes the world civilized.

It's vice, disease, mendacity, lechery, shit.

The French are a great people even if they are syphilitic.

But don't ever ask me to go to a neutral country again.

I don't want to see any more cows, human or otherwise.

I don't know.

Hey. Hello.

A drink, please. Hello.

These are not whores.

They are nymphomaniacs.

You'll wait until closing time, won't you?

Please. Please, don't go.

I want to go home with you.

Oh!

Oh!

Here we are.

Whoa!

This is too much. What are you doing?

I'll not stay in this bathtub one more minute.

Aren't you ashamed?

And how are you going to pay us? What's the matter?

I just pissed.

I took a leak in the bathtub.

And how are you going to pay us?

You are the most incredible, dirty, monstrous swine.

You are a couple of disgusting Huns.

Degenerate English! Yankee, go home!

No, no, no.

I've known these gentlemen for a very long time.

They have always acted like real gentlemen.

You have checks. Give them a check, please.

A hundred francs each. That's very cheap.

A check? Mm-hmm.

Sure. That's an idea.

Hey, Joey. The old checkbook. You know, the flat one.

Hand me my trousers, will you?

I always have to pay.

Why not wait until tomorrow, girls?

Won't they trust us, Adrienne? No. No.

Trust you? No, no, no.

Then piss off. I'm fed up. Don't be so mean.

Give us a hundred francs. Please, please, please.

We won't speak more about it. Each?

You're crazy. Cut the comedy, Carl.

Write the checks and let's get rid of them. I'm tired.

Cut the comedy? After giving them a check?

Hey. What do I get for this?

I want something unique.

Not just a lay.

Hey.

They'd like to know if you could possibly try...

to dig up some change for a taxi.

They live very far away.

Far away? Mm.

How far away?

Menilmontant.

Menilmontant?

Take it easy, Joey. There's a girl for you too.

I'm not sure if she's a whore or not, but does that matter?

She's just your type. Don't worry.

I know your type.

Not a day over 35.

She'll be just like Christine from Ile Saint-Louis, only much better.

Her name is Mara.

If you want to meet her, go see for yourself.

She'll be standing at the Champs-Elysees in front of the Fiat building.

She'll be wearing a tight black dress and a rabbit fur.

And under her arm, she'll be holding an embroidered handbag.

English? Hmm?

I'm Mara.

Please, talk English with me. I'm dying to talk English.

It remembers me of Mr. Winchell.

You know, I learned my English in Costa Rica...

and Mr. Winchell.

Oh, I had good times in Costa Rica.

He was a gentleman...

a generous, charming American gentleman.

He was so kind too.

You know, I had a nightclub in Costa Rica.

And when I came back to Paris from Costa Rica,

Mr. Winchell, he took me up.

He belonged to some- some athletic club in America.

His wife lived there too.

And, uh...

And he treated me so kind. You cannot imagine how kind he treated me.

We went to Deauville, all three...

Mr. Winchell,

his wife and me.

Mr. Winchell, he was so kind.

He was like a prince, I tell you.

He treated me like a prince. You cannot imagine.

But when Mr. Winchell proposed that we should sleep three in the bed,

his wife got very angry.

I don't blame her.

Then came Ramon.

When Mr. Winchell left for America, he gave me a check.

But Ramon...

You know, we had a cabaret in Madrid.

And when they found out that he was a communist,

they closed it down, took everything away, all his money.

He was such a swell guy. I trust him.

I don't know where he disappeared to.

But one day he will write me a letter, I'm sure.

But Mr. Winchell, he was a gentleman, like you.

Tell me. What are you doing here in Paris?

Are you not hungry? You must be hungry.

I'm hungry. Very hungry.

No, no, no, no. Not here. It's too expensive.

I know you don't have much money like Mr. Winchell. You are not a millionaire.

Let us find some ordinary little restaurant.

I don't care where. There's plenty around here.

Please, let's find another one.

You're such a swell guy. I don't know how to thank you.

Believe me,

I know the good life very well.

You know, I had a nightclub.

Mr. Winchell, he said I was not cut out to be what I am now.

And believe me, I am so sick of it.

I've given myself to many men. In Costa Rica. All over.

It doesn't matter because I have loved them.

They always remember Mara because I have given myself, body and soul.

Hmm?

Sometimes I go with a man. You know, he never talks to me.

He doesn't want to know who I am. He doesn't want to know about me, Mara.

The only thing he wants to know is about my body.

What can I give a man like that?

Feel me, how hot I am. I'm burning.

Here Look at my hands. Study my palms.

That is what life can do to you.

No. No, no, no, no. I'm-Mara is not beautiful.

Once-Once I was beautiful. Now I'm tired, worn out.

Listen. I can tell you.

I want to get out of here-Paris.

It looks beautiful, huh? It stinks.

I assure you, it stinks.

I've always worked for everything.

Here Look at my hands again.

I'm French.

They want to suck the blood out of you here.

I hate my countrymen.

They are hard, mercenary, without pity for my kind.

Where are you taking me? Huh?

It's the Avenue Wagram. What's the matter with you?

Taste.

This is too rich too.

Don't spend more money on me.

I hope you are not rich.

I don't care about money.

You should know what a privilege it is...

just to talk to you.

Oh! It makes me feel so good.

So good.

You don't know what it's like to be treated like... a human being.

Mara never forgets the way you treated me tonight,

the way you talked to me.

I'll never forget it.

It is better...

than if you had given me...

a thousand francs.

I mean, anytime you want to see Mara...

You don't have to give me anything.

Look, couldn't you call me tomorrow?

Why not let me take you to dinner, huh?

Look.

Here.

My address.

But don't come here.

It's only temporary.

So you're Polish then. No.

Mara is Jewish.

I am born in Poland.

Anyway, that's not my real name.

Mara, you must excuse me a moment.

I'm going downstairs.

Mara, it's late, and I must be going.

Oh, please, don't play that game with me. I know why you left the table.

You were so kind, really. I don't know how to thank you.

Oh, please, don't go. He'll stay. I told him to.

Please, let's walk a little way together, huh?

Let's just talk a little before we have to say good-bye. Yes?

Put your arms around me. Kiss me.

Kiss me.

Mm.

Mara knows how to love.

Mara will do anything for you.

Never leave Mara.

Kiss me.

Kiss me. Kiss me.

Good-bye.

What if he doesn't come?

Oh, he will.

Here.

Take this.

Just in case he shouldn't come.

Au revoir.

Mara wants to thank you.

You are so kind.

Don't give me money, not that much.

You and Mr. Winchell...

What's the matter with you?

Hasn't anyone ever treated you decently?

Green and silver.

They're off to the moon

I've lost my way.

You've lost yours too.

Now that we love.

What shall we do.

Passing the time.

Till tomorrow.

Yes, I should have married her.

Christine.

We should have followed the shop woman's advice and married.

That's the sad truth.

Still, as I walk at night, I think of her,

stopping up before the old house on the Ile.

Saint-Louis, looking up at the window.

She's not with her husband anymore.

She must be lonesome.

But that's not the Christine I wanted to tell you about.

It's strange how some come into one's life for a moment or two and then disappear...

forever.

And yet, there's nothing accidental about such meetings.

At this very moment, she might be sobbing in her sleep.

I can't help thinking of strange cities where it's night now or early morning...

godforsaken places where lonesome women are crying.

Those sobs in the dark- they keep ringing in my ears.

A week later at the home of a Hindu dancer,

I was introduced to an extraordinarily beautiful Danish girl,

newly arrived from Copenhagen.

She was decidedly not my type,

but she was ravishingly beautiful, no denying it.

A sort of legendary Norse figure.

But this time everybody, except the dancer, had too much to drink,

including the Danish beauty.

Her reserve was broken down.

Approaching me, she said with a seductive grin,

"Are you the man who writes those terrible books?"

I'm a married woman and I've two children,

daughters-two beautiful daughters.

Do you like children?

"If I were free, would you then marry me?"

"Yes," I said. "I'd marry you tomorrow. Right now, if you say the word."

"Don't be too quick," she replied. "I might take you at your word."

And then I rattled more silly nonsense, placed my hand on her cunt.

I was steaming like manure under her dress.

"Christine-what a wonderful name."

Only a woman like you could own such a romantic name.

It makes me think of icy fiords, of fir trees dripping with wet snow.

If you were such a tree, I would pull you up by the roots,

"carve my initials into your trunk,"

all the time clutching her firmly, pushing my finger into her gluey crack.

I don't know how far it would have gone if we hadn't been interrupted.

It was all fine when we broke up.

You've got to help us out on this somehow, yeah.

Where's that box you keep her safe hid.

She had the typical seductive charm of the Nordic woman...

in whom lasciviousness and prudery battle for supremacy.

You know, say anything you like, do anything you like,

but use the language of love...

glamorous, sentimental, romantic words...

that conceal- You should see my girl.

She's not bad.

Met her at the Circus Medrano.

You don't waste time with preliminaries.

Just whisper a few kind words and push her over.

She's got a cunt like a suction pump.

Ah, there you are.

How do you like her, Joey? Not bad. Not bad.

Here Turn around. I want to show him your ass.

Feel it, Joey. It's like velvet.

Mm. That must be your cunt.

Joey, why didn't you tell me how beautiful she was?

She's fantastic. She's the best cunt you ever dug up.

What does "cunt" mean?

It means that you're beautiful, dazzling, radiant.

Like fragile lace in the moonlight. Is dinner ready soon, Joey?

Come on. How can you think of food when I'm here?

You've got her there, Carl.

How do you say "cheers" in Danish? Skaal.

Tell me, Christine.

Your husband...

does he give you a good fuck now and then, eh?

My husband is dead.

Dead.

Dead?

I love you.

We all love you.

When I was in the chorus of the gaieties.

No! I cannot.

Why? I'm thinking of my husband.

Hey, Carl.

Wait a minute. Hold on. I've got to wash.

That bitch is bleeding like a stuck pig. Yeah, but wait a minute.

Listen, Carl. Carl, look, it's your turn now.

Why don't you take over here and I'll go and check Corinne. Great.

She's babbling about that husband all the time.

Joey, stop. It's me.

Yeah, I wake up in the morning.

Someone was knocking at my door.

Well, he asked for his money.

Yeah, he said he couldn't wait no more.

Well, I gave him five dollars.

Then I gave her what I had.

Then in come my partner.

And asked if I was sad.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone, I said!

Christine, don't leave us.

Shut up, you disgusting, terrible, perverse pigs!

Ducks and geese.

In diamond skies.

She comes to me.

With open eyes.

To tell of us.

And things that fly.

Passing the time.

Till tomorrow.

And I alone beside her sit.

There's just a lonely candle lit.

It casts a glowing over it.

Tomorrow.

Green is amber Blue is gold.

A not-so-different story told.

Please take my arms They're growing cold.

Tomorrow.

Green and silver.

They're off to the moon

I've lost my way.

You've lost yours too.

Now that we love.

What shall we do.

Passing the time.

Till tomorrow