Washington Square
 
Intro: F#m  Bm  A  F#m  (4X)
 
F#m            Bm        F#m     Bm
On her biggest wall, she hung Warhol
    F#m        Bm        F#m     Bm
And wishes she had never used
     F#m     Bm             F#m     Bm
The last magazine, in which she was seen
    F#m         Bm    F#m     Bm
Was sold to the self abused

A           E            Bm    F#m   
This lovely one holds an empty gun
    D                       Bm
And swears it was done on a dare
A        E             Bm    F#m
Her only fear, is that her career,
         D                Bm
Has been damaged beyond repair
B                  Intro 
Down on Washington Square

The summer breeze, blows the shades off the window
As she stares out on to Seventh Avenue
She sees a rastafarian, out on the corner,
Trying to sell his point of view

Without affection, she tells her connection,
"I need a fix this just isn't fair"
And he takes a walk, around the block, 
And disappears into thin air
Into Washington Square

E                  F#m    E
   I sit here all alone
F#
Wondering when they will come

She reads every page of Vogue Magazine,
Studies every single look
She came on the scene, behind amphetamines,
And left before they finished the book

Mirror, mirror, on the wall
Does this mean that you no longer care?
You used to tell her that she was the one
But now that you're no longer here
She stands and stares out on Washington Square

E                              F#
Doesn't anybody understand she needs someone,
E                                     F#  
Blown away in the loft, late at night into oblivion,

She found her bag of troubles and tricks
Down on Commerce Avenue
All the muggers, all the whores and the thieves 
Told her, all of her dreams would come true

"Jeanine" they said, "she set her old man free,
Down at the Chelsea, just before he disappeared"
She takes a walk, around the block
And picks up a few volunteers
And takes a stand out on Washington Square.

I saw an art show I saw Jaco Pastorius 
Walking across the street
He was mumbling mumbling something about
Someone that he had to meet

It was that lovely one with an empty gun
Who did it on a dare
Came on the scene wearing tennis shoes and jeans
And vanished into thin air she disappeared

It's the new sound of thunder
It's not purple rain
It's the new southern California
And New York City again. 



by: José Duarte
jtduarte1@gmail.com