[Intro – spoken] Nobody used a name. Names have families. Names have addresses. Names can testify. [Verse 1] Five chairs, four shadows, one seat left bare, green felt table and smoke in the air. Cards went down like doors in a hall, nobody played big, nobody played small. Mr. Grey said, “How’s our friend by the bay?” Mr. Blue said, “He’s thinking of moving away.” Mr. White cut the deck and adjusted his cuff. Said, “Some men need help when the road gets rough.” Nobody looked at me, but the room leaned near. The ice in my glass was the loudest thing there. One man lit a match, let it burn to his thumb. Said, “Tell our friend that the winter has come.” [Chorus] No names at the table, no names in the room. When a man says, “Take a drive,” somebody’s meeting darkness soon. No names at the table, keep the language clean. The dirtier the business, the less the words should mean. [Verse 2] They spoke about weather, they spoke about boats, about a tailor downtown making poorly cut coats. They spoke about gardens that failed in the spring, about broken old watches that wouldn’t keep a thing. Every little sentence wore another man’s face. Every pause left a body-sized space. I learned that a whisper can carry more lead than a man who stands up and says what he said. Mr. Grey dealt a card and finally looked my way. Said, “You know the little restaurant out by the quay?” I said, “I know the kitchen. I know the back stair.” He said, “Good. Take this coat. It’s cold out there.” [Chorus] No names at the table, no names in the room. When a man says, “Take a drive,” somebody’s meeting darkness soon. No names at the table, keep the language clean. The dirtier the business, the less the words should mean. [Bridge – sung softly] We never said goodbye. We only said, “Take care.” We never spoke of graves. We only changed the chair. We never called it murder. We called it closing time. Every family has a language. Silence was mine. [Verse 3] Years later, I sat where Mr. Grey used to sit, same lamp overhead, same ash in the pit. A young man waited with his hands on his knees, trying not to shake, trying hard to please. I asked how his mother was sleeping at night. Asked if his brother had made things right. Then I turned over one card and stared at the grain. Said, “There’s a coat in the hall. Looks like rain.” He nodded once. I could see he understood. That’s how bad men make bad sound good. Nobody used a name when the young man rose. Names are for people. The family knows. [Final Chorus] No names at the table, no names in the room. One chair stays empty. Another one fills soon. No names at the table. Let the cards decide. A man keeps his name only while he keeps it inside.
