The night was over
The band was done
Time to hit the lights
Another Friday
In the books
And we only had two fights

One busted speaker
A broken chair
A proposal killed at ten
Time to close
And shut it down
Until we start again

Ashtrays full of hopes and dreams
Burned away with no success
Half filled bottles and empty glasses
Just signs of more excess
Time to clean away the night
And sweep away unanswered prayers
Wash the lipstick from where it stayed
And clean up the nights layers

Another morning
after another night
of at least ten broken hearts
where remnants of
scattered hopes
were dead before their start

An empty shell
hopelessness...tempting
once more..'have a try
where once the band
is finished up
you can all go home and cry


Ashtrays full of hopes and dreams
Burned away with no success
Half filled bottles and empty glasses
Just signs of more excess
Time to clean away the night
And sweep away unanswered prayers
Wash the lipstick from where it stayed
And clean up the nights layers


Each day starts fresh
Last night is gone
Nothing ever lasts
The beer is cold
The bar is warm
Last night is in the past

Regulars arriving
Band is tuning
The staff is in position
Fake Id's
abound tonight
with cougars on a mission


Ashtrays full of hopes and dreams
Burned away with no success
Half filled bottles and empty glasses
Just signs of more excess
Time to clean away the night
And sweep away unanswered prayers
Wash the lipstick from where it stayed
And clean up the nights layers


Ashtrays full of hopes and dreams
Burned away with no success
Half filled bottles and empty glasses
Just signs of more excess
Time to clean away the night
And sweep away unanswered prayers
Wash the lipstick from where it stayed
And clean up the nights layers

You’re the summer breeze in the city of skyscraper love,
Where teardrops have always needed pearls to shine,
And You,
To bring back their smile.

You’re the lipstick stain on your city’s memories,
A teasing reminder not of what’s gone and past,
But of what’s yet to bloom.

You’re the last sip of expensive wine on christmas eve,
Filled to the brim of newfound happiness,
So that it lingers in your senses,
Till the sun rises in protest.

You’re all this and so much more,
A maiden of march on summer’s shore.
Yet I heard the season’s gossip yesterday,
Whilst I bet on how you will conquer,
Your dreams today

and there's something about
turning 16
and filling your lips with
the deepest red
in the mirror

how it feels
like you've become a rose
freshly unfurled from
some skeleton,
your colours as rich and
viscous as your dripping blood

yet a rose that's closed
in a glass jar, you are
turned and admired, you are
twirled in fingers
like the stem of a wineglass

because at 16,
you feel you are something
refined,
mature and flowing and
beautiful

older

but it's only
your mother's lipstick;
she too is getting old.
at night you take
the crimson off,
and the rest of you
comes into focus.
all your yellows, all your blues;
you will need to love them too

and don't you let the laughter
slide off from
your new scarlet mouth
because you're 16 now.
it will try to
and you will need to pick it up
off the floor

because you're 16 now
but remember one thing for me:
you are far more sturdy
than just a rose

you are a girl
you are every colour
you think you haven't become

We waste expensive lipstick
On cigarette butts
That are thrown out the window
And somehow ignore
That we do the same
With our lovers

Today I learned that
red lipstick makes me a fox.
Foxier, that is.