Last call

Turn off the radio and come to bed.
The sunny warm day has come to a end.
The bar tender at the lounge have called last call,
And you have almost drank all your wine.
Really you thought was last call.
The stumbling and falling up the street,
To our place we go.
The  neighbors must think.
Who the hell do they think they are?
It's us to them, or them to us?
We must dance the sullen dance to our bed
It's there we pass out
To the endless world
We dream or blackout.

Sept 4/11