Song Writer

Don't know why we did it
home late and tired
on a weeknight
smelling of the smoke
of that crummy saloon

I had a headache from one beer
Every once and again
having to convince myself
that a beer would be a change
from the wine that's kind to me

And she doesn't drink
but the office is a long day
Needs some quiet nights
and this wasn't one
and we grinned, wondering why

Why we'd crawled out of the warmth
into icy streets, bundled
walking quickly to hear him
because he's a friend
and writes wonderful songs

So it goes with these friends who write
and sing in noisy saloons
giving what they have to give
to a half-interested crowd
and it was very cool indeed