Dying Slowly

Imagine times before the following:
You find yourself in a bar. Outside, it is already dark. "For sweet suicide" is the title bar. Out of sheer smoke (produced by cigarettes and that this extra-long) you can barely recognize his own hands before the eyes. In small, round tables, the guests sit. At each table, only one. So you're all alone, drinking alcohol. Cognac, what else is out of the question. Well, maybe tea with a shot of rum. One has the inevitable feeling that these people are somehow part of the inventory. Some of them cry - silently - and occasionally goes a loo, after which you will soon hear a shot. And somewhere in the bar has to be a pianist. But you do not know where. He plays jazz. Light, entertaining jazz. Again and again the same melody.
So not only sounds of opener "Dying Slowly" so sounds the whole "Can Our Love ...".