(P.F. Webster / S. Burke)
|
I'm feelin'mighty lonesome,
|
haven't slept a wink
|
I walk the floor and watch
|
the door and in between
|
I drink black coffee
|
Love's hand me down broom
|
I'll never know a Sunday
|
In this weekday room
|
I'm talkin' to the shadows
|
One o'clock till 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
|
Now a man is born to go a lovin'
|
A woman's born to weep and fret
|
To stay at home and
|
tend her over
|
And drown het past regrets
|
in coffee and cigarettes!
|
I'm moanin' all the mornin'
|
And mournin' all the night
|
And in between it's nicotine
|
And not much heart to fight
|
black coffee
|
Feelin'low as the ground
|
It's drivin' me crazy
|
This waiting for my baby
|
To maybe come around
|
|
-----------------
|
Black Coffee
|
Sinead O'Connor |