(Winwood/Jennings)
High above the heat of a summer New York street
An out-of-work musician plays a solo saxophone

He's a preacher and a teacher
And he stands up all alone


Stranded in the dark of a vision in the park
A poet in his madness tries to find another line
And he's losing and he's using

And he says he's doing fine

And they look from such a height

That somehow it's all right
They're talking back to the night
It's all that they can do

Talking back to the night
It's how they make it through
If you listen you can hear them

Their voices draw you near them
They're talking back to the night for you


Something seems to take every dime the man can make
His dream is getting smaller and he wonders where to turn
And he's trying hard to make it

And he's trying not to burn

Woman never minds, pulls the shade and draws the blinds

She takes him in the darkness where the loneliest can feed
She gives him all she has to
And it's no more than he needs