Last call friends
Last call friends, he repeated two times strong,
      desperate for an answer or slight recognition from familiar faces,
      white and pale these faces are today, cold like statues lost in a popular fog,
      the table, the only thing to show a hint of care, mimicking his every turn, scream and tear smashing against the unpolished torn wood below his hands,
      a sick repetition falls over him as his rage quickly fades and his voice becomes horse,
      slightly lowering his hands back to the table, closing his eyes embraced by apathy he stands,
      letting his arms fall to his side and with one more glance he confronts those cold statues with a silent whisper,
Last call friends,
Last call friends, he repeated two times soft.