lonely at the only 
clawing through the smoke
the poets are so hip they don’t even write poems
buy me a drink its no good to drink alone
so full of worry i just need to sleep
its not that i’ve been crying its just that my eyes leak 
if i knew what was wrong i’d let you know
there will be nothing; nothing amiss at all
all the boys with their sticky hands
regulars with getaway plans
my beer smile meets your rye cheer
who here is having the harder year
no one i guess
and so its lonely at the only
third night out of three
its not that i’ve been crying its just that my eyes leak
if i knew what was wrong i’d let you know.