Al Stewart — 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