I’m feeling mighty lonesome, haven’t slept a wink, I walk the floor and watch the door and in between I drink black coffee.
Loves a hand-me-down broom. I’ll never know a Sunday in this week-day room I’m talkin’ to the shadows, one o’clock to four. And lord, how slow the moments go when all I do is pour black coffee.
Since the blues caught my eye. I’m hangin’ out on Monday my Sunday dreams to dry.
