Nighthawks

Peter, our friend, had a number of issues
He shat on the carpet and ate all the tissues
Surrounded by roaches and 2 Tone reissues
There’s little more we could have done

You talk about downfall, you talk about Maisie
The trace of whose glidepath became kind of hazy
They said she had talent, they said she was crazy
It took her too close to the sun

The third was a seer and also a teacher
She married a popular Midwestern preacher
The gossip said only the devil could reach her
But teacher knew how to have fun

The fourth was Roberta, who wrote from the spleen
She got herself published in twenty sixteen
Arrived like a starburst and slipped from the scene
Nobody weeps when you’re gone

The last one was Jimmy, a likeable bloke
Who blew us away the moment he spoke
His roots were in Bluegrass, American Folk
He left like a man on the run

I’d love to regale you, I’d love to go on
But the bottle stood empty at quarter past one
The days are too many, the nights are too long
And all that’s worth winning is won