Behind the windows of the late-night bars

The stale old suits knock back their whiskey sours;
Tired eyes speed past in their hatchback cars

As the tramps drift by through the moonlight hours.

A light bulb flickers in the bleak high-rise

Where a worn-out clerk on his single bed

Collapses; he rubs his sore, bloodshot eyes,

Then shuts them tight, purging thought from his head.

For if he pains his solitary mind,

Then he might ask why lies he here alone,

Why he sleeps ev’ry frozen night confined,

Why he hears his unloved heart softly groan?

For loneliness is the cruellest plight;

An evil shade that stalks the starless night.