It's true that all the men you knew
were dealers who said they were through
with dealing every time you gave them shelter.
I know that kind of man.
It's hard to hold the hand of anyone
who's reaching for the sky just to surrender.
And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind
you find he did not leave you very much, not even laughter.
Like any dealer he was watching for the card so high and wild
he knows he'll never need to deal another.
He was just some Joseph looking for a manger
Then leaning on your window sill
he'll say one day you caused his will
to weaken with your love and warmth and shelter,
And taking from his wallet an old schedule of trains,
he'll say "I told you when I came I was a stranger..."
But now another stranger seems
to want you to ignore his dreams
as though they were the burden of some other.
O, you've seen that man before,
his golden arm dispatching cards
but now it's rusted from the elbows to the finger
And he wants to trade the game he plays for shelter
Ah, you hate to see another tired man lay down his hand
and giving up his holy game of poker,
And while he talks his dreams to sleep
you notice there's a highway
that is curling up like smoke above his shoulder
You tell him to come in, sit down
but something makes you turn around,
the door is open - you can't close your shelter.
You try the handle of the road, it opens, do not be afraid
It's you my love, it's you who are the stranger
Well, I've been waiting, I was sure
we'd meet between the trains we're waiting for,
I think it's time to board another.
Please understand, I never had a secret charm
to get me to
the heart of this or any other matter.
When he talks like this you don't know what he's after
Let's meet tomorrow if you choose
upon the shore, beneath the bridge
that they are building on some endless river.
Then he leaves the platform
for the sleeping car that's warm
You realize, he's only advertising one more shelter
And it comes to you, he never was a stranger
And you say ok the bridge or someplace later.
And then sweeping up the jokers that he left behind ...
And leaning on your window sill ...
I told you when I came I was a stranger. |
