In the long arcade of the bus station footfalls come back like laughter. He marches darkly toward his darkly marching shape in the glass of the depot door. His fetch come up from life's other side like an autoscopic hallucination, Suttree and Antisuttree, hand reaching to the hand.
Without your love It's a honky-tonk parade Without your love It's a melody played in a penny arcade. It's a Barnum and Bailey world Just as phony as it can be But it wouldn't be make-believe If you believed in me.yip harburg