At the Half-Moon Cafe, we drink to our lives

Like pseudo-believers in love

We've been through our holes-in-the-walls and the dives

Where you drink to recall what you once had a vision of.

And we talk of our lives in a prison

Though we both know it's better to be

Safe within our indecision

Than taking the risk to be free.

And you were to be a great poet

And I'd find my fame in song

But we somehow saw failure more closely

Than fame all along.

And now you manage a hamburger stand

And I haven't found steady work yet

And we meet here to talk and pretend

That we know no regret.

But how much is chance

How much would you decide

How much is murder of our dreams

How much is suicide?

So you ask of my latest Top 40

And I ask of your latest great fiction

As I step outside I see that the moon is full

I have to laugh at the contradiction.

Well, at least we can laugh at our dreams

Though it's really much more bitter than sweet

Sometimes through all of this fragmentation

I imagine what it feels to be complete.

But how much is chance

How much would you decide

How much is murder of our dreams

How much is suicide?