The Lost Dreams Bar
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Hello, Stranger.
Welcome to the Lost Dreams Bar.
Suffering from a love who just doesn't love you back?
Aching for a touch, a kiss, hell, a smile
Knowing that it'll never come?
Then you're in the right place.
Pull up a stool.

I'm the barkeep.  Just give a shout if you need anything.
What do you mean, you can't find solace in a drink?
I've heard that before, chum.
And even though it's true, I tell you,
It can push the hurt away for an evening.

So tell me your story, or better yet,
Let me tell your story to you.
You're truly, madly, desperately in love
With the most beautiful, intriguing person in the universe,
And whoever it is doesn't see it,
Or wouldn't care anyway,
Because there's someone else.
Am I right?
Of course yours is different.  Every story is.
But let me tell you, friend,
After a while you get to seeing
That every Helen runs off to Paris with some handsome ox named Troy.
Something like that, anyway.


Of course we can make that.
I'll have you know this is the best-stocked bar
In the known galaxy.
It has to be: my clientele comes from every walk of life.
See that rubbery-faced constable in the corner
Watching the bubbles in his glass?
He's crazy over his best friend,
While's she's galavanting with the Head Minister
And pregnant with someone else's baby.
I told you, we get all kinds.


Those two, yeah, the one with the wings,
And the white-haired hippie,
We call them the twins, sort of a joke.
Same story there: one loves a princess,
The other her daughter.  In a way.
They're rather new customers, but good people.
Like the rest of the folks in here,
They stay till closing
And walk home alone.


Ah!  My long-nosed friend, come meet our new patron.
Tell this young thing about your cousin.
You always did have a gift with words
The turn of phrase.
I know, she didn't see it.
They never do.
Here's Quasi's cider, but next time,
Send him up to get it.


Poor bloke, that one.  No, not Cyrano,
Though he's had more than his share of woe.
Quasi ... Don't stare.
He's sensitive about that.
From all accounts, she was gorgeous,
But isn't that always the way?


Usually, Grantaire comes in around this time,
And the three of them suck down wine like water.
They've been here since I opened this place,
And will be till it shuts down.
I can't imagine where he's gone,
Grantaire, that is.
Oh, yes.
He got himself involved in some movement
For freedom or some such rot.
It was for Enjolras, we all know it,
But we put up with his protest songs anyway.
All part of the service.


Ah, Waylon's made his way in for the evening.
Now there's a sad sap if ever I knew one.
He waits hand and foot on an evil old man
Waiting for the day the abuse will turn to smiles.
You might think the fellows would avoid him,
But they understand.
We all do.


No, not too many women in here.
That surprised me at first.
They always seem to be the ones who love more,
Pining after lords and heroes they really can't have,
Dreaming of being held in strong arms.
But rarely do they wander in here.
I suppose that if a few lonely ladies
Should happen inside,
I'd have to go out of business.
On second thought, no.
I know the type of customers I draw.
They'd spend a night, or a year, or a lifetime
In the embrace of some fair damsel,
And still dream of the unattainable one.


Senor Quixote, how goes the quest?
Your table awaits.


You know his story.  Her name, if it matters,
Is Dulcinea.


It's time.  Oh, you're new.  My apologies.
It feels like we're already old friends.
What I meant was, it's time for the song.
Most bars have drinking songs,
And the Lost Dreams Bar is no exception,
Almost.
All walks of life, I told you,
And all times, all languages.
Some nights I'm not sure if there will be room
For every lost soul.
But there always is room for one more.
There's only one tune we all know,
And know well.
The cadences get a little odd,
And if you listen carefully, you'll notice
That no two people sing the exact same song,
But it's close enough.
You may even find
That you know it too:


"Where have you wandered, my aching soul?
What port shelters your travelling bark?
Do you know how long I have whispered your name
Deep in the recesses of the forgiving dark?

I know there are hearts I have broken myself,
Know the names of the faces who cried because of me,
And regret, oh regret the lives left unknown
But never as much as the loss of thee.

Never know, never speak, the words I would hear,
Never return to me what blindness takes,
Nor know how, at your gentlest touch,
My all-too-fragile heart breaks.

More than the sea, more than the sky,
More than the waves love kissing the shore,
I have loved you, will love you
Never, and also forever, and more."


What?  You've never seen a bartender sing?
You've missed out on much, friend.
But I saw you singing.
You understand.


I started this place as a salve
To my own broken dreams.
You know the story, you've heard it before:
She was more beautiful than the moon,
A dark-haired glory unlike any other.
No, she never knew.
Never saw.
They never do.
You know that.


It's always night here,
But the night is finally folding into dawn.
Closing time.
Let's have one more round, on the house.
For Roxane.
For Esmeralda.
For Kira.
For Katharine, for Angela.
For Enjolras, for Montgomery.
For Dulcinea, for Miranda.
For Helen.
For your love.
For mine.


Go carefully, now.  It's not safe
Being out there alone.
You come back tomorrow night,
I'll be open and waiting.
You can pull up a chair with the rest,
Sipping or quaffing, take your pick,
Beweeping your own outcast state.
We'll listen.

Oh yes, nearly forgot.
If you need to find me, just come to the bar.
Ask for Bill.
They'll know.

Good night.


1/24/97