Inside the lonely building sits the candidate
|
His speech is typed and ready, the hundred dollar plates
|
Sit on deserted tables beneath fluorescent light
|
But no one comes to hear him; no cheers disturb the night
|
|
So where are all the voters? Where the voters' wives?
|
They've all gone to the movies, trying to understand their lives
|
The candidate is slipping into some dream of old
|
Not noticing around him, a thousand rubber chickens going cold.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Candidate
|
Al Stewart |