tomorrow when work's the game and the hope's to win...
my time has become bumpy;
my hit streak's gone slumpy;
why do i always try so hard?
why have I not tried harder?
why can I see so far,
and not still be smarter?
as her breath stops on her phone microphone,
and my own reeks of beer, just alone,
i wonder if she could love me?
maybe she would if i could just see
in more than 11949568348 directions as i wander,
on bike or on foot I saunter,
faining joviality,
maintaining civility,
wishing love was all that I can see,
as in this world i drown.
