It was way too early
on Saturday morning
and both of our heads
were still banging.
We swallowed some pain meds,
I nicked from my roomate,
and stayed down until
the sun started burning.
Then got up and walked down
to a place near the bank,
to wait on our take-away
caffeine dosing.
I stared at a broken
chair leg and said that
no one should sit there,
but then you were hoping
that someone just might.
The barista looked flustered,
her face growing red
as she tried to keep up
with the orders. I thought,
no drug dealer, ever,
has looked quite as sad
as she did, just working
with sweat down her back
and tears in her eyes,
for us or for her
or for both
or for nothing.

and Gloria, cause that
was the name on her name tag,
looked at us strangely
when we walked away,
wondering why
does one lonely guy
need so much coffee
to get through a day.

Though I think,
I just answered that.
This is not a pipe
Wow, I honestly did not see that ending coming, but you've handled it beautifully because suddenly the piece takes on this whole new meaning. Always good to see something from you, Carmel. Sorry if I'm pretty useless on the comments.
would make a badass spoken word song.
some chunky ass bass in the background,
mixed with a drum machine...

final verdict; B+
i am the lamb.
point me to the slaughter.
Well I think this was a pretty decent piece of songwriting! In fact I feel some music to that song that I could even record for you if you want. It could be a little longer but that's okay. Great job.