Welcome to Nighthawk
Where silences clings on absence of friendly talk
Where tense stares hang on hands of a neon wall clock
And the hands who hold it are a word from hello
Simple cigarettes begin unfiltered, held by the free hand of desperation
Residing restitute behind bloodshot eyes, within a quiet conversation
First coffee, and followed by gin, again it\'s uncomfortable digestion
First gaze upon lightened diner freezes it\'s motion to stone
In possibility the lonesome island of a stranger leads a Nighthawk to welcome