the temptaitions-just my imagination

read this as you listen to the song. othewise it doen't work.

a man walks into a bar. sits in a booth for 4. orders a gin and tonic. waits. waits and watches. and sips his drink. eyes the jukebox. suspiciously, as it spits out the hits of the recent past. songs that die before they end. songs that evaporate into the smokey air.
he watches through the window. for her. for the girl that makes his heart skip. not jump, but skip. enough to make him worry. and one walks in. and it's not her. and he sips his drink. and he imagines himself, content, and at peace. and another one walks in. and it's not her. and he imagines himself, sleepy, on a couch, with fingers through his hair.
and he orders another drink.
and looks at the jukebox.
and thinks, hmmmmmmmmmmmm, 'tracks of my tears'? no. 'you send me'? nah. 'band of gold'? jeez! fuck! no! not that one! not now! you're trying to forget that one!
(and remember this is all dream)
and another drink...
and his mind wanders...
where it shouldn't.
sometimes wanting someone is better than having them. (think about that, kids. really.)
and the lights and the sounds swirl. and someone plays 'just my imagination'.
and do you hear in his voice? when he sings, so subtly, 'once again'? once again.
we don't learn from our past. we are creatures of habit. that's why we get hung up on our past.
ahemmmmmm.
that's why HE gets hung up on HIS past. (we're being objective here).
and another drink goes down.
and she still doesn't show.
tho' another one does. and she strolls past him so slow. and he buries his head in his chest, cuz it's...all...so...scary....
and the tremolo of the guitar matches the quivering in his throat. it's nervous but peaceful. i..i...i...something. i something. what?
what?
he's a mess. it's true. and he expects too much. he feels too much. the jukebox eggs him on. he wishes he didn't feel too much. to feel nothing, like those guys who seem to be able to walk to, and away from, the best ones. who come without warning, leave without feeling (to coin a phrase).
but he's destined to sit there, true, gin after gin, pining for every girl who walks into the bar. cuz the one he wants is walking away...cuz in reality...she doesn't even know me...