Eyes through the window Glance Staring At the moist night air Friday night As heads, and hearts Wander, and wonder As dreams Drift And lift As hopes Are squandered On a flickering chance Of romance Until reality Squeezes in Through the back door Of false hope As caged canaries Whistle, and sing Hoping to escape As their wings flutter Like bread, and butter Remain stale And obsolete As we all bleat Like lambs to the slaughter As woollen hearts Are sheared