The night grows old the drinks stay cold the eyes cross over time.
The view turns strange my target range falls blindly way behind
Who calls my shots? Who joins the dots? Who says my time is done?
Who gives two fucks? Who passed the buck? Who’s case is number one?
A city break so filled with fakes of starlets on the hoy.
A constant line of girls who find a cocktail filled with joy.
An honest jibe of youthful tribes who follow trends en vogue
A missive tide of those who lied and presently cry ‘Broke’
The shining lights of party nights who swell on streets of gold
Throw shapes upon the dancers floor before they feel too old.
But time must fall upon us all as alcohol takes charge
And thoughts of sober breakfast seems a muse to see recharge.
Dec247h 
Leave a comment