Black and blue eyes
From rolling with the punches,
Another lonely night
From relying on the hunches,
Flicking through the channels
And hoping for a sign
That tonight will the night
He won't walk another line,
Shielding his face from the red and blue,
Slurring his words
Because he hasn't got a clue,
Where he is
Or why he's behind bars,
A night in a cell
Because he's written off his car.
He wonders why women walk away,
Why they give him the finger
Or why he never gets their name,
But then again he enjoys the rush,
Of taking them to bed
With another heart to crush,
Of sleeping in sheets
That still smell of Chanel,
From the woman before
Who said "go to hell".
He puts on his shoes
And walks through the door,
Hoping tonight
He'll once again score.
© L.J. Chaplin
