Night.

I stay up till two, waiting for you

to grace the line with your voice.

I can't make the choice if

it's your words or mine that

cause you to drift off to sleep.

While you've got a hand of kings

and the prettiest queens,

I'm a dead man with nothing

but aces and eights.

Yes, I love and I hate just

like everyone else;

It seems strange that it's all about me.

I'm really not exceptional

as you may think me to be,

Just exceptionally sad and forlorn.

My legs are worn and my soles are tired...

I'm starting to wonder though, if I'm dreaming

With the cold water and air

and the windows still steaming.

I'm not really sure what you

wanted from me,

And I'm not really sure what I gave.

Our love, or lack therof is

just a pasttime of mine,

And I'll chase the nightmare

of you to the grave.