Wilco — Quarters

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Текст Wilco — Quarters

I travel where you worked
Was cold and dark as a cavern
You kept quarters in your shirt
But I never could just have them
You always made me sweep around every flying floozy
Under booths and bums asleep
Waking up, they’d ask you, «Who’s he?»

Behind a glass without a glance
«My daughter’s boy,» you would say
Well, I stood there in a trance
Listening to the jukebox play