ANGEL:

New York City



MARK:

Uh huh



ANGEL:

Center of the universe



COLLINS:

Sing it, girl



ANGEL:

times are s--tty, but I'm pretty sure they can't get worse



MARK:

I hear you



ANGEL:

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



COLLINS:

Now you're talking!



Well I'm thwarted by a metaphysic puzzle

And I'm sick of grading papers, that I know

And 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

Oh, sunny Santa Fe would be nice

Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe

And leave this to the roaches and mice



OH-OH



ALL:

OH--



ANGEL:

You teach?



COLLINS:

I teach- computer age philosophy

But my students would rather watch TV



ANGEL:

America



ALL:

America!



COLLINS:

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

I could seat guests as they come

Chatting not about heidegger, but wine



Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe

Our labors would reap financial gains



ALL:

Gains, gains, gains



COLLINS:

We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe

And save from devastation our brains



HOMELESS:

Save our brains



ALL:

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

Forget this cold Bohemian hell

OH- OH-



COLLINS:

Do you know the way to Santa Fe?

You know, tumbleweeds... prairie dogs...

Yeah