New York Times Book Review by J Church Lyrics

Grady's Bar is no saloon
Drinking on a Monday afternoon
The air has its unique pungent smell
Unique to the Seneca Hotel
I close my windows every night
But nothing can keep out the light
It nags me awake
It keeps me pinned right in my place
It keeps me pinned right in my place

I wish I was an international sensation
I'd blame these words on a bad translation
Translating Edgar Alan Poe
Is it pure? I'll never know
The sky is full of lots of things
Evil dreams and the coming rain
Rain must be true
I read it in a New York Times book review
I read it in a New York Times book review

So that's what you get when you open your eyes
We'll rendezvous and hope to die
Drink our toasts to last goodbyes
And dream of a long-lost lover's thighs
The charlatans feign indignation
I'll drink gin and tonic and heart medication
Don't worry about a thing
Don't be afraid of anything
Don't be afraid of anything