On the first floor
On the first floor
On the first floor there's a young girl reeling
Her body's numb and without feeling
As illusions dance on the midnight ceiling
Now she's falling, now she's kneeling
It's almost like she's bowed in prayer
A savior she's about to bear
She calls for help, but no one's there
guitar solo
On the first floor
guitar solo
On the first floor people walk the halls
But none can hear her desperate calls
There is no sound beyond the walls
So to the telephone she crawls
She telephones her only friend
The one on whom she calls
She can depend
But the phone rings on without an end
Then rings no more
guitar solo
On the first floor
guitar solo
guitar solo
guitar solo
Grand piano solo
guitar solo
There's a party on the second floor
And through the picture window
You can see them all
guitar solo
guitar solo
guitar solo




There's a party on the second floor
They're laughing and they're dancing, admiring the Renoir that's hanging on the wall.
But in the master bedroom where the coats are piled high, a silent satin lady thinks of what it's like to die.
And as she dwells on all the years she still has left to face, she wonders how she'll ever find someone to take his place.
Suddenly she's jarred by the ringing of the phone.
Oh, why do you ring now just when I want to be alone?
So she walks to the faucet and takes some water from a cup.
But the telephone stops ringing just before she picks it up.
My family was very poor, so I worked hard to be secure.
And I married one I had to wed, not the one I loved.
Instead, for when I was young, my blood ran wild.
But we stayed married for the child.
Now three flights up, I'm all alone.
My wife is gone, my child is grown.
Oh, why do you ring now just when I want to be alone?
My daughter leads a wayward life.
I guess she's been a failure as a wife.
Though she lives just one floor down, she never calls or comes around.
Step off the platform and onto the train.
Look out your window and into the rain.
And watch all the buildings that pass as you ride.
And count all the stories that go on inside.
And then ask yourself,
If it must be the only way to know.
this way should walls and doors and plaster ceilings
separate us from each other's feelings.
Before you can do a gig like this,
you have to sign a paper that swears you won't curse.
You know what the fine is for cursing on the air?
Ten grand or two years.
Take your pick, which is under the box.
It's like, let's make a deal.
It'll be ten grand or two years.
I think I'll take the two years.
I'll take six months and five grand.
Whatever you can do.
Snapping away, everything is weird.
Come on!
They have echo on everything.
It's fantastic.
There they are in the booth looking out.
This is what the fish must feel like
down at Silver Lake in Florida.
People looking out.

Look at that one.
It's a banjo fish.
This whole thing can make you very paranoid.
As Ed Sanders says, though,
just because you're paranoid
doesn't mean they're not trying to get you.
People, Americans especially,
are incensed over the fact that we're a violent nation.
Specifically more violent than most.
It's fantastic water, by the way.
I think they got it out of a bottle or something.
It's an interesting thing that Alan Lomax,
in putting his book together,
decided that about 60% of the songs
that made it over from Europe
and landed in our American repertoire
contained the theme of a man
murdering his lover
and shoveling her into her grave
and then riding home under the cover of darkness
not to be found out.
And songs like Frankie and Johnny
were the great American staples.
They reflect what it is that we are.
But I think we're more than that, too.
We can, I guess, be a country of velvet and steel.
Great country.
I play the banjo every so often
when I get on to my American jag.
It's the only American instrument there is,
I guess, besides the ukulele,
which is only a recent addition.
It has its origins in Africa.
It always freaks me out every time I see
a George Wallace campaign
with some cat playing bluegrass.
The only new.
Get that racist instrument off the stage.
Get that racist instrument off the stage.