in a dank and squalid tavern
where passion is the fare
Cupid lingers like a hit man
you blend into the brass and oak
becoming ambiance
love is a mountain
you must climb from your stool
what a waste of time
you poor little sucker, you poor little fool
in a vacant parking lot
where shards of broken glass, gleam
as stars in the midnight sky
you pose on a decaying curbside
with hands upon your intuition, wondering why
the fall leaves blow wistfully
you breathe in air, crisp and cool
what a waste of time
you poor little sucker, you poor little fool
as scarlet tail lights fade
into the shadows of the night
you come to realise, that you’re alone
so it’s back to hunting in the streets
yes, hunting in the streets