Sober in the ****** light
sees me looking out over an empire,
the chimneypot stacks pointing towards
gray weathered skies
and my clock lies,
it’s an hour ahead of time,
near six to be precise,
and my head is soldier like:
vigorous, vigilant and abled to strike.

Drunk in the ****** light
sees me looking out over disappointment,
a recollection from last night-
let me dance in an awful club with a girl whose eyes know what I’m on about,
and that my dancing is only a dance- not performance art nor a joke-
-and the chimneypot stacks are early with their smoke,
I am cold in this jumper
and my I lie,
it's an hour behind the rest,
just past four
and my head is all over the place,
unsteady and unsure.

“No one’s perfect until you fall in love with them”
That’s what they say
And I've fallen for a boy
Who couldn't possibly fall for me
But I fell for him anyways,
And he is perfect in my eyes
But it is useless for he won’t love me back
Quite sad, isn't it?
He must not realize that he wanders
Into my mind every so often
I have him memorized
While he barely glances my way,
And has taken over my daydreams