| Writer's Room
Lyric by Clive James, music by Pete Atkin
It's a writer's room,
A room that's just a room:
Except for the portable, a few manila folders
The books and the concertina correspondence-holders
And some taped-up photos of Gide or Durenmatt
Or Pound and Joyce in different kinds of silly hat
It's just a room.
It's a writer's room,
A room for getting nowhere fast
A place to hole up in for a man without a past
Whose future is in doubt
And who tends to look for excuses to go out.
It's the room of a writer as yet unread;
But things that last take a long time to begin
And as he sits there at his paper-littered desk beside the bed
A cigarette between his lips
There are sheets of sunlight on the wall beside his head.
It's a writer's room,
A room that's just a room:
Except for the portable, a few manila folders
The books and the concertina correspondence-holders
And some taped-up photos of Gide or Durenmatt
Or Pound and Joyce in different kinds of silly hat
It's just a room.
It's a writer's room,
A room for getting off the ground
A place to hole up in while you feel your way around,
While you're getting on your feet
With three cheap cafés half a minute down the street.
It's the room of a writer as yet unread;
But things that last take a long time to begin
And as he lies there in the darkness with his hands behind his head
A cigarette between his lips
There are sheets of streetlight on the wall above the bed:
The sails of ships that are forever coming in.
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