The Pub Inside My Head

I’m by myself, alone again,
And restless at the thought
Of closing out another day
As I know I really ought.
I’d rather share some music
And some company instead,
But all I have to keep me
Are the phantoms in my head.

The music that I’m playing
Is pleasing, but it’s bland
Compared to the communion
In a pub with a good band.
And all my fairest fantasies
Are nothing to compare
To reaching cross a table
And finding some one there.

My walls close in around me.
I’m imprisoned in this place.
I’m more free in a smoke-filled pub,
Charmed by a lovely face,
A glass of scotch in front of me,
The music in my ears
Assuring me that I belong,
Surrounded by my peers.

But work awaits tomorrow.
Already it is late.
I don’t really have the scratch,
And I don’t have a date.
So I guess I’ll kill the lights
And stumble off to bed,
And dream about the good times
At the pub inside my head.