When I’m Gone

Not now — don’t tell me that it’s closing time;
I just got here, and music is still playing,
The barflies haven’t finished what they’re saying —
Something about strained mercy and feigned crime —
That lady over there has gummed the lime
In her Tequila Sunrise, started praying,
Laid down the room key for the place she’s staying,
And some guy grabbed it who looks like a mime.

When will I understand what’s going on?
Will I get in a fight? Could I get kissed?
I have more questions (yes, I have a list):
Will we see stars? Or will we see the dawn?
Will anybody miss me when I’m gone?
The barkeep answers with an iron fist.