Turn the Page

Apologies to Bob Segar:

In a old and forgotten courthouse, east of omaha.
You can listen to your client moaning out his one lone song
You can think about woman, or the girl you defended the day before,
But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do.
When you’re been in court for so many hours and there’s nothing much to do
And you don’t feel much like arguing, you just wish the day was through.
Here I am, at the bar again. there I am, up on the stage.
Here I go, being a PD again.
There I go, turn the page.
Well you walk into a restaurant, strung out from the load,
You can feel the eyes upon you as you’re shaking off the cold
You pretend it doesn’t bother you, but you just want to explode.
Most times you can’t hear them talk, other times you can.
Oh the same old cliché, how can you defend that man
You always see outnumbered, you don’t dare make a stand.
Here I am, at the bar again. there I am, up on the stage.
Here I go, being a PD again.
There I go, turn the page.
Out there in the spotlight, you’re a million miles away,
Every ounce of energy, you try and give away,
As the sweat pours out your body like the arguments that you make.
Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed,
With the echo from the Judge ringing in your head,
You smoke the day’s last cigarette, remembering what you said. What you said.
Now here I am, at the bar again. there I am, up on the stage.
Here I go, being a PD again.
There I go, turn the page.
Now here I am, at the bar again. there I am, up on the stage.
Ah here I go, being a PD again.
There I go, there I go.
Turn the page.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s