From his cup he sips

But the coffee is cold

He plays with paper clips

And he is feeling old



Trying to meet a dead line

But life is so grim

Pretending things are still fine

His wife has left him



He just wants to be a reporter

Report with all his glory

He should think of his daughter

He only thinks of the cover story



He lights up a cigarette to smoke

He never has any time to choose

People see him only as a joke

He lives just to tell the news



Cover stories and small articles

Writing words that he feels he has to say

Going home now to dark shadows

Tomorrow the paper is thrown away