I cannot describe just how It feels
Heading outward on my wheels
Delìvering parcels everywhere
Traveling along without a care.

I start my day up on the wood
That's were I live it feels so good
Before I turn on the ignition key
First things first its a cup of tea.

Then I am off to my very first stop
A road in shard end a floristry shop
Then I drive to another place
A corner house on a council estate.

Then I move on to Bordesley green
Memory lane if you know what I mean
What I see is the life I once knew
The friends I had yes I had a few.

Time it comes for a morning snack
A cholesterol unfriendly bacon bap
I swill it down with a mug of tea
And back on the road and feeling free.

I love my job driving this van
Done it for years I'm a delivery man
I move along to any piont anywhere
Just give me a call and I'll be there.

I travel east and travel  west
I'm your delivery man doing my best
Driving vans is all that I've known
And Birmingham city is my Home.

So when I finish and my day is done
Back to the wood I've completed my run
The van is safely tooked away
I'll be back again same time next day.

Night is such a dangerous time
Darkness is when the truth emerges
No longer distracted by the superficial joys
that grace us during the daylight hours
We are forced to face our demons and
delve into self reflection
Night is when I miss you most
Surrendering to the loneliness and
realization of my mistakes
Night is such a dangerous time.

Oh glutton of sorrow
Nothing is ever sorrowful enough
One sorrow on another
Give me something to be sorrowful about, she cries!
When all is well ... All is not well with the sorrow glutton
Simply because there is nothing to relentlessly complain about
In her little corner of the world
Forever the victim she paints
Anyone willing to listen to her songs of sorrow
She will surely pull down with her
Into the depths of despair
A bottomless darkened pit
Virtual vampire of energy
Too lazy to live on her own fuel of life
To live off other people's sympathy
Oh it makes her thrive
Never does she utter a trusted word
For it is surely someone else's thought she stole
Blank canvas without a frame
Forming a collage
A collage of other people's personalities
Yet none of her own
The sympathy card she will play
Time and time again
Until you shout ... Game over!
Only then will she look for another to continue her sorrowful game