the bar maid swept up
singing a song i never knew
in this place
where weeks turn into
the feeling of years gone by,

the smoke hangs limp in the air,
and all have a troubled story to tell,

most have friends here
and most feel like outsiders,
and the young girl in the corner
blames it on an existential heart,

three or four souls wander aimlessly
in and out of the place
trying to find somewhere...

they wander or stumble to their cars,
the rain speckled windshield
their only guide,
they drop it into drive
and know now that forty bucks
only means a cheap hang over.

in the darkness,
lonely and desolate
they turn up their radios,
they put the cruise control on,
they think...
and they know,
it's only another long ride home.