The Candidate

Inside the lonely building sits the candidate

His speech is typed and ready, the hundred dollar plates

Sit on deserted tables beneath fluorescent light

But no one comes to hear him; no cheers disturb the night

So where are all the voters? Where the voters' wives?

They've all gone to the movies, trying to understand their lives

The candidate is slipping into some dream of old

Not noticing around him, a thousand rubber chickens going cold.