5 o' clock on a Tuesday,
73 and sunny once again.
The 10's crawl is killing the patrons,
who fight for a glimpse of the end.

The blur of insanity,
reduced to a sigh.
A hundred years of living
keeps  passing you by.

It all goes bye.

But I’ll stay.
And I’ll fight,
for the beauty and magic,
to reach for the sky.
And I’ll stay.
And I’ll fight,
the demons and angels
That keep me alive tonight.