Sitting in a Polk Street watering hole,
just like the very first night here,
many years have past though not very far,
give me a fag to smoke and a beer.
Everyone else on their way to someone,
sitting alone and assumed to be okay,
sideways glances that can’t be undone,
sleeping alone in the night and by day.
I can’t relate and probably never will,
there is no song I am inspired to sing,
you can’t get real emotions from a pill,
there is no bad belle to polish or ring.