Visions of Johanna

<br>Aint it just like the night to play tricks when youre tryin to be so quiet? <br><br>We sit here stranded, though were all doin our best to deny it<br><br>And louise holds a handful of rain, temptin you to defy it<br><br>Lights flicker from the opposite loft<br><br>In this room the heat pipes just cough<br><br>The country music station plays soft<br><br>But theres nothing, really nothing to turn off<br><br>Just louise and her lover so entwined<br><br>And these visions of johanna that conquer my mind<br><br><br><br>In the empty lot where the ladies play blindmans bluff with the key chain<br><br>And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the &quot;d&quot; train<br><br>We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight<br><br>Ask himself if its him or them thats really insane<br><br>Louise, shes all right, shes just near<br><br>Shes delicate and seems like the mirror<br><br>But she just makes it all too concise and too clear<br><br>That johannas not here<br><br>The ghost of lectricity howls in the bones of her face<br><br>Where these visions of johanna have now taken my place<br><br><br><br>Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously<br><br>He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously<br><br>And when bringing her name up<br><br>He speaks of a farewell kiss to me<br><br>Hes sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all<br><br>Muttering small talk at the wall while Im in the hall<br><br>How can I explain? <br><br>Oh, its so hard to get on<br><br>And these visions of johanna, they kept me up past the dawn<br><br><br><br>Inside the museums, infinity goes up on trial<br><br>Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while<br><br>But mona lisa musta had the highway blues<br><br>You can tell by the way she smiles<br><br>See the primitive wallflower freeze<br><br>When the jelly-faced women all sneeze<br><br>Hear the one with the mustache say, &quot;jeeze<br><br>I cant find my knees&quot;<br><br>Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule<br><br>But these visions of johanna, they make it all seem so cruel<br><br><br><br>The peddler now speaks to the countess whos pretending to care for him<br><br>Sayin, &quot;name me someone thats not a parasite and Ill go out and say a prayer for him&quot;<br><br>But like louise always says<br><br>&quot;ya cant look at much, can ya man? &quot;<br><br>As she, herself, prepares for him<br><br>And madonna, she still has not showed<br><br>We see this empty cage now corrode<br><br>Where her cape of the stage once had flowed<br><br>The fiddler, he now steps to the road<br><br>He writes evrythings been returned which was owed<br><br>On the back of the fish truck that loads<br><br>While my conscience explodes<br><br>The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain<br><br>And these visions of johanna are now all that remain