Santa Fe

New York City
Uh-huh
Center of the universe
Sing it, girl
Times ain't pretty
But I'm sure they can't get any worse
I hear ya

It's a comfort to know
When you're singing the hit-the-road blues
That anywhere else you could possibly go after New York would be
A pleasure cruise

Now you are talkin'
Well, I'm thwarted by a metaphysic puzzle, hm?
And I'm sick of grading papers, that I know
I'm shouting in my sleep, I need a muzzle
All this misery pays no salary, so

Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Sunny Santa Fe would be nice
We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And leave this to the roaches and mice
Woah, woah, woah, woah
Woah, woah, woah, woah

You teach?
I teach computer-age philosophy
But my students would rather watch TV
America
America

You're a sensitive aesthete
Brush the sauce onto the meat
You could make the menu sparkle with rhyme
You could drum a gentle drum
And I could seat guests as they come
Chatting not about Heidegger, but wine

Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
Our labors will reap financial gains
We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And save from devastation our brains

We'll pack up all our junk and fly so far away
Devote ourselves to projects that sell
We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe
And quit this cold Bohemian hell

Oh, oh, woah, woah
Woah, woah, woah, woah
Woah, woah, woah
Woah, woah, woo
Woah, woah

Do you know the way to Santa Fe?
You know, tumbleweeds and prairie dogs
Yeah



Credits
Writer(s): Jonathan D. Larson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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