Jazz plays downtown 

Los Angeles, California. 

Ash grey silhouette of 

A man seated on the opposite table. 

Something's sparkling in his ashtray. 

Something's bleeding on the pages 

Of the journal, as the reporter writes 

Her draft on the side table. 

People in numbers heaving in. 

Drinks on the table seeding 

To outcomes of sorrow, guilt 

And happiness flowers. 

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What a pleasurable pain

to be loved by someone who only wants to use you 

someone who only wants your body and not your mind 

accepting the fact that you are wanted, only for vanity and not for soul purpose. 

You are but an object, 

a hole for someone to dump their sadness into. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

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The lights are dim,

The band plays loud,

The audience are the usual crowd.

There's John and Jim against the bar,

Commenting on the lead guitar.

Leanne sits with her best mate Sam,

Shouting over the music, how she loves her man.

Her man, Brad, is at another table,

Flirting with a lass named Mable.

Then Wobbly Bob staggers over the floor,

Empty glass in his hand as he o...

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I grab the beer pump and tilt the glass,
Whilst his slime and sleaze harass.
He slurs his words and winks his eye,
And gives his chat up line a try.
And still I smile so courteously,
The customer's always right you see.

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Once-upon-a-time, a barman worshipped the Sun.

Worked nights so didn’t see much of it

but in his head he’d got stories of

the Fire God supreme,

Blaze Lord,

vanquishing monsters who'd eat out your dreams.

He called the Sun ‘Hero’,

believed it had six pairs of arms,

giant wings of flame

and the handsomest nose in the galaxy.

Made moons blush

and g...

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