You know those lights were bright on Broadway
That was so many years ago
Before we all lived here in Florida
Before the Mafia took over Mexico.
There are not many who remember
They say a handful still survive
To tell the world about
The way the lights went out
And keep the memory alive.

The light of other days is faded,
And all their glories past.

Woo ah, mercy mercy me.
Ah things ain't what they used to be, no no.
Where did all the blue skies go?

I feel like this long string of lights,
They lit up our whole house on Christmas day.
But now it's January, and the bulbs have all burned out.
But still, they hang,
Like dead flowers.

The nights are no longer warm,

The summer had turned, the summer had gone; the autumn had dropped upon Bly and had blown out half our lights. The place, with its gray sky and withered garlands, its bared spaces and scattered dead leaves, was like a theater after the performance — all strewn with crumpled playbills.

The old church tower and garden wall
Are black with autumn rain
And dreary winds foreboding call
The darkness down again

Well, I'd sooner forget, but I remember those nights
Yeah, life was just a bet on a race between the lights
You had your head on my shoulder
Your hand in my hair
Now you act a little colder
Like you don't seem to care

Seen the lights go out Broadway
I saw the Empire State laid low
And life went on beyond the Palisades
They all bought Cadillacs
And left there long ago.

One by one the lights burned out, like long lives come to their expected ends. Then there was a dark house made once of time, made now of weather, and harder to find; impossible to find and not even as easy to dream of as when it was alight. Stories last longer, but only by becoming only stories. It was anyway all a long time ago; the world, we know now, is as it is and not different; if ever there was a time when there were passages, doors, the borders open and many crossing; that time is not now. The world is older than it was. Even the weather isn't as we remember it clearly once being; never lately does there come a summer day such as we remember, never clouds as white as that, never grass as odorous and shade as deep and full of promise as we remember they can be, as once upon a time they were.

A friend came to see me on one of the evenings of the last week — he thinks it was on Monday, August 3rd. We were standing at a window of my room in the Foreign Office. It was getting dusk, and the lamps were being lit in the space below... My friend recalls that I remarked on this with the words, "The lamps are going out all over Europe: we shall not see them lit again in our life-time."

Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.

Without, without a doubt
Come on and let me out
Hey, where the fuck were you when my lights went out?

The ghosts . . . try to remember the sunlight. Light has died out of their skies.