Sweet

He left broken glasses drying
There on the side of the sink
As the party ended early
Cause he'd had too much to drink

He told her what he'd been thinking
Without giving it a thought
She said she'd be home tomorrow
It's tomorrow, and she's not

There's nothing to learn here
That he couldn't learn on the street
And nothing left to say, dear
But wasn't the best of it sweet?

Now he's standing on the corner
Trying to gather enough rope
He knows he's become a cliché
He was aiming for a trope

Despite the distance that he's fallen
He can't seem to pick up speed
But he knows a guy who's good for
A little bourbon and some weed

There's nothing to learn here
To sweep her back off of her feet
And nothing left to say, dear
But wasn't the best of it sweet?

Come the dawn, he'll start to wonder
Could it have gone another way?
Could he have been forgiven?
Would he even want to stay?

He finds broken glasses lurking
In the coat in which he slept
Finds himself seeking out water
Though he's drowning in the depths

The whole thing's become a mystery
Without first or final page
Misery casts off companions
When you reach a certain age.

There's nothing to learn here
To make him feel less incomplete
And nothing left to say, my dear
But wasn't the best of it sweet?