It's Friday night, I knock back five Then stumble out to hit the club I catch your eye looking for mine Looking for a lover you don't have to love
A harried glance, we start the dance With roaming, groaning hands And sweat, and grit, and scripted friction A masterclass of sham romance
But you're not you and I'm not me And these red cups won't set us free And I regret the way we met As faceless strangers in a drunken sea
I wish it were morning To watch the wind play in your hair I wish it were morning To see the sunlight in your stare I wish it were morning When I could tell you what I think I wish it were morning Without the help of all these drinks
The ***** on your breath, it smells like death And your lips don't taste quite right And your Levi jeans pressed up against me Just aren't doing it tonight
The hiccup when you flirt, and the ***** on your shirt, Match the beer-stains on your shoes With your empty flask, and your haggard mask I just can't stand the sight of you
And while I'd like to spend the night And wake up warm between the covers I tip my hat instead, and see you off to bed Because poets are daytime lovers.