It’s almost time to go home
The bar is shutting down
I can hear them washing the dishes in the back
The bartender, mingling with the silence
It’s one fifty seven in the morning
The busser’s are wiping down the tables
And stacking the chairs
Cursing beneath their breath how life failed them
It’s one fifty eight in the morning
I can hear echo of a prostitute’s high heels
Clicking their way into the passenger seat of a car outside
It’s one fifty nine in the morning
I grab my coat from off the chair
And tip my hat slightly to the left
And start walking home
What a night it has been
It’s two in the morning
The bar is shutting down
I can hear them washing the dishes in the back
The bartender, mingling with the silence
It’s one fifty seven in the morning
The busser’s are wiping down the tables
And stacking the chairs
Cursing beneath their breath how life failed them
It’s one fifty eight in the morning
I can hear echo of a prostitute’s high heels
Clicking their way into the passenger seat of a car outside
It’s one fifty nine in the morning
I grab my coat from off the chair
And tip my hat slightly to the left
And start walking home
What a night it has been
It’s two in the morning