He was on his way back home In a pickle of the finest malts and ales All those demons they'd been eating at his shoes Holes in his pockets and all the change is jangling loose He knows how it feels He knows how it feels So he'll be there to feel for you You'll be lending but he'll be spending it on you No better medicine than a bar room afternoon The fires burnt and all the fiddles they took flight Bartender's sleeping worries fleeting hello night He knows how it feels... I was lost when I met you Now I'm more lost than a knife in a soup bowl But you showed me Tom Waits And the ways of the wild wandering and strange He was on his way back home In a brine of Cuban rum and ginger wine His beard burnt and ruffled by all the troubles Of a city's wild eccentrics born to struggle He knows how it feels .