Dirty Streets Poem by Ynon Hermon

When I open my eyes I find the same old house of beer,
the same faces praying cheers,
the room with the dimmed out lights,
and the comfort for the night.

So you leave yourself back at the door,
because this won't be like the times before,
when you end up lying on the floor
of a dirty, dirty street.
A dirty street of a dirty town.

There's a guy sitting on the table, leaning on his friend and playing those strings.
They are singing that dead old tune,
and they bring it back to life.

And there's a couple that dances between the seats,
saving themselves for times like these.
When they stop with a smile comes a tear,
and you can hear them say: 'Only here...'

It's a rare place that is full of life
but even here it is getting late.
There's no more dancing, there are no more guitars.
They hung their heads, and have to wait.

If I wait enough, they'll come for me, to drag me out,
and there is only time to close my eyes,
before they throw me to a dirty street.

Dirty street of a dirty town.