It was strangely cold, strangely mild
Strangely gray, strangely wild.
Such a day it was when the waiter came
To dish out pieces of fame
From pie dishes still warm, steaming.
But the ice cream kept me from believing
On that gray, wild day
What the waiter said in his cold, mild way.
And then he left carrying the bill
Away from we, the patrons who will
Always forget to tip.