Panjim in the rain.

The last dregs of my coffee cup

and the water in my shoes.

Small change in my wallet

but a pocketful of blues.

What business do you have here?

I wish I could explain.

I guess I'm here, just to look

at Panjim in the rain.

The road is like broken glass

fallen from the sky.

And poetry is nothing but a better way to lie.

The moths drink up the street lights

and I drink all that remains.

Swig by swig, under the stars,

in Panjim in the rain.

The mice and men are in their holes

hiding from the Gods.

The empty street and the empty pier

can't stand an empty glass.

Everybody is a sinner in this town,

searching for a saint.

All they find is alcohol

and Panjim in the rain.

Water water everywhere,

but not a drop to drink.

Laughter laughter everywhere,

but not a thought to think.

My bartender is as nonchalant as they come.

"When it rains, it pours", He says.

Then pour me another one, and let me drink

to Panjim in the rain.