Down the rusted stairs which go
round and round,
In that little white room-
That's where they met.
She came looking for the dreams he sold,
As he sat painting dreams with cigarette smoke...
She looked around,took a chair,
He weaved dreams into the air.
The keyhole brought in a streak of dust-
It went through the rings of smoke he drew.
A hint of smile played on her lips,
She knew this was the one she wanted.
He sold it for a tear and a half...,
And the bargain was made.
The dream would be lived when the westward wind
Would bring in clouds of rain.
The tears would be shed by these clouds-
On his broken windowpane.
She looked through the keyhole and felt the sun,
Maybe,tomorrow,it will rain again...