mr businessman
walks around with battered dreams in his suitcase
home from his desk job
his closest friends greet him
(a bottle of whiskey and an old guitar)

he wanted to write songs
to make people sing out loud
now he files paperwork
and carefully feeds the things he cares about
through the office paper shredder

he watches birds and wishes he could fly
but mechanical wings have gone the way of his dreams
so he'll settle for just falling

falling asleep, falling alone
falling with no one to catch him

still he sings himself to sleep
moonbeams & moonlight
his voice salty and hot in his throat
like the tears he has swallowed through his life

mr businessman crushed his own dreams
for a penthouse view
and what can i say,
it worked