The Game
Cold Chisel
(Twentieth Century)
Who's that on the telephone
The fisherman said
Looks like a writer
She turned her head
Could be, we'll see
Ma ring replied
There were rumours when he came
And as the evening fell
Around the old hotel
The stranger left his dial-tone
His place was gone
In the game
He's down from the city
And he's here to think.
He pays his money
She got another drink
Who knows, his book
Is closed to you and I
We may never know his name
The music drifted down
The same repeated sound
If Nat King Cole
Can save his sole
He'll find his peace
The fisherman eased his frame
If I was asked
Just who's to blame
To read his past
I'd have to say
She's a woman . . .
When all your cards are done
Just leave your share
And make your run
They'll burn your contacts down
Plans on fire
You know they've won
Just turn and walk away
And start again, a brand new day
In lonliness their aim will turn
Against themselves
For one more play
In the game
Submitted by syz