She standing there with her gin and tonic
Holding it like a cross ripe
for a cruxification

She turns to smile making sure you see her
Pouring out wiles of affection on the somebody new

It's like an arrow through you
Cutting deeper than the burbon on your breath
Is it her way of making up a test ?
. . . YES !. . .

Well it's sometime between midnights
It's anytime all of the time
She holding the arm of leaving
The attention of her new guy

There's no amount of Bourbon you hush
It can't flush away the ghosts

And it must be between the midnights
It must be the last of last calls

The band's quit for the night
The pianist twinkles on the keys of exhaustion
I whisper to the glass of ice
Everything's going to be alright