Brandy in the Evening

Sip brandy in the evening

While you think about your son

Don’t telephone your son

Just think about him

Toss around the last splash of brandy

In its glass

Pretend you don’t care

You care

You care too much


But you finish the drink

And fall asleep in the chair

Where’s your glasses?

Where’s your cane?
Where’s the cane that you carry around

Not because you need it

But because you like being an old man

You're invested in it

When so many people

Are selling stock in old age
You're buying in

When you become an old man

Of a certain income

You get yourself a big chair

You can fall asleep in

And a son who hates your guts

If you don’t have a son to hate you

A daughter will do

But she won’t be as fun

Because women forgive their fathers

Even when they shouldn’t

Men don’t give a shit

If their fathers are getting old and dying

In ratty red armchairs

In living rooms with peeling paint

And ugly light blue carpeting

They don’t care

--And why should they?

You’re going to die

Whether they love you or not

And if they love you

It’s just going to be tougher

On everybody

So you look at the phone

And you sip your brandy

Your refill, one should say

Because you don’t drink a glass

You don’t just drink
One glass

You’re not a child

You’re not even a man

You’re something else now

You’re a sage

You’re a wise man

You’re a pompous ass

But you’ve lived awhile

So you know some things

And you’ve uh, you’ve...uh…

You’ve lost your train of thought

But you’ve got your brandy

So who the fuck needs

A train of thought

A chain of thought

A train of thought

A chain…

A chain…

Beleaguered man sits in chair

And drinks himself

Towards death

Not to death

But towards it

You move towards things now

Things you used to run to

Now you inch

You crawl

You slide

You slide out of your chair

And onto the floor

And from there

You pray

Or you think

Or you think too much
Or you feel sorry for yourself

...And the phone rings

It rings

And it rings

And it rings

He must know

He must know

That now is when

You sit by the phone

And smoke your cigar

And sip your brandy

And ask yourself

When he’s going to call

So he calls

And you’re too drunk

To pick yourself up off the floor

And take the call

You think he’s going to call again?

Do you?

Maybe tomorrow

Maybe tomorrow night

Another brandy

Another cigar

Another broken clock

Somewhere in the house

Letting you know

What time

It is