#1
I'm not a poet but a songwriter. Edited a couple hours after the original post.

When the clock sings
Five thirty every day
You hear the same song
You've got to get away
But it has got to be wrong
To commute until the end
You make the coffee
And pour yourself a friend
Pour yourself a friend
Pour yourself a friend

On the drive home
She's the wound that doesn't heal
There's an ache there
That reminds you not to feel
But her honey hair
Is the memory that dreams send
A bottle of Old Lethe
And pour yourself a friend
Pour yourself a friend
Pour yourself a friend

And now you're lonely
In a crowded hazy bar
And you've forgotten
How lousy these days are
But the taste is rotten
When the morning comes again
So make the coffee
And pour yourself a friend
Pour yourself a friend
Pour yourself a friend
Last edited by Nilchii at Oct 12, 2009,