ANGEL:
New York City
MARK:
Uh huh
ANGEL:
Center of the universe
COLLINS:
Sing it, girl
ANGEL:
times are s—tty, but I’m pretty sure they can’t get worse
MARK:
I hear you
ANGEL:
It’s a comfort to know
When you’re singing the hit the road blues
That anywhere else you could possibly go
After New York would be
A pleasure cruise
COLLINS:
Now you’re talking!
Well I’m thwarted by a metaphysic puzzle
And I’m sick of grading papers, that I know
And I’m shouting in my sleep, I need a muzzle
All this misery pays no salary, so
Let’s open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Oh, sunny Santa Fe would be nice
Let’s open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And leave this to the roaches and mice
OH-OH
ALL:
OH—
ANGEL:
You teach?
COLLINS:
I teach- computer age philosophy
But my students would rather watch TV
ANGEL:
America
ALL:
America!
COLLINS:
You’re a sensitive aesthete
Brush the sauce onto the meat
You could make the menu sparkle with rhyme
You could drum a gentle drum
I could seat guests as they come
Chatting not about heidegger, but wine
Let’s open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Our labors would reap financial gains
ALL:
Gains, gains, gains
COLLINS:
We’ll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And save from devastation our brains
HOMELESS:
Save our brains
ALL:
We’ll pack up all our junk and fly so far away
Devote ourselves to projects that sell
We’ll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Forget this cold Bohemian hell
OH- OH-
COLLINS:
Do you know the way to Santa Fe?
You know, tumbleweeds… prairie dogs…
Yeah
