Depot, Depot


Depot, depot, what am I doing here?
Depot, depot, what am I doing here?
I ainít coming, I ainít going
My confusion is showing
And outside the midnight wind is blowing Sixth Avenue
Iím gonna paint myself blue
At the depot

I watch the taxis pull up and idle
I canít claim title to a single memory
You offered me a key
Cause opportunity donít knock
Has no tongue as you cannot talk
Youíre gonna shuffle when you walk
At the depot

This peeping Tom needs a peephole
And an up-tempo song
To move me along
When I find this depot, baby
Iím on a roll just like a pool ball, baby
Iím gonna be there at the roll call maybe
At the depot

Outside the midnight wind is blowing Sixth Avenue
Ah, tell me what a poor boy to do
At the depot

Iím on a roll just like a pool ball, baby
Iím gonna be there at the roll call maybe
At the depot
Depot


Words and music by Tom Waits
©1974 Fifth Floor Music, Inc.



Produced and engineered by Bones Howe
2nd engineer: Geoff Howe
Recorded at Wally Heider Recorders, Hollywood

Tom Waits: Vocals, piano
Oscar Brashear: Trumpet
Arthur Richards: Electric guitar
Tom Scott: Tenor sax
Jim Hughart: Upright bass
Jim Gordon: Drums

Track 9 on the album ĎThe Heart of Saturday Nightí 1974
Time: 3.42


Live versions available on these bootlegs: