Depot, Depot Depot, depot, what am I doing here? Depot, depot, what am I doing here? I ain’t coming, I ain’t going My confusion is showing And outside the midnight wind is blowing Sixth Avenue I’m gonna paint myself blue At the depot I watch the taxis pull up and idle I can’t claim title to a single memory You offered me a key Cause opportunity don’t knock Has no tongue as you cannot talk You’re 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 I’m on a roll just like a pool ball, baby I’m 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 I’m on a roll just like a pool ball, baby I’m 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 ‘The Heart of Saturday Night’ 1974 Time: 3.42 Live versions available on these bootlegs: