A glass of white, a bottle of pale

 

Evenings with my ear pressed to the rail

 

Listening for your return

 

Mosquito kissed, oblivious to burn

 

A touch of green, a trace of red

 

Most mornings I just stay in bed

 

Dreaming of what used to be

 

Undercover with another’s memory

 

Like a dog that’s kicked and cursed

 

I like you at your best

 

And love you at your worst

 

Busy chasing my own tail

 

A glass of white, a bottle of pale

 

A hint of lime, a pinch of salt

 

I know most likely everything’s my fault

 

So there’s nothing up my sleeve

 

I know most likely one of us will leave

​
 

Like a room without a view

 

You start to thinking these four walls

 

Are all you ever knew

 

Funny how it feels so strange

 

I know most likely nothing’s gonna change

 

If I’m not blind why can’t I see

 

How I ended up in places

 

I never thought I’d be

 

With my ear pressed to the rail

 

A glass of white, a bottle of pale