Nocturnal Reckoning

What time is it?

Don't tell me.

I was supposed to leave

three hours ago.

Apparently...

I didn't.

Street's mostly empty, Kitchen's already closed,

Bartender stacking chairs Like he's dropping subtle clues.

My jacket disappeared

Somewhere around one,

Phone says twelve percent— Night says we're not done.

There's a black car waiting

For somebody outside,

And somebody just said,

“I know another place.”

Of course you do.

Nothing intelligent

Happens after two.

That's what people say— Who go home before two.

We're on the wrong side of midnight,

Where tomorrow starts to bend,

Where “one more” means another place And nobody knows the end.

Should've left an hour ago.

Said the same thing twice.

But everything gets interesting ON THE WRONG SIDE OF MIDNIGHT.

Now there's six of us riding

When we started out with three,

Somebody knows somebody

Who apparently knows me.

Elevator keeps climbing.

Nobody said what floor.

Doors open— Well... I've never been here before.

City underneath us,

Sax somewhere down the hall,

Somebody hands me something— I say,

“I'm good.”

I'm learning.

Wrong side of midnight!

Clock don't mean a thing.

Piano getting dangerous, Hear those fucking violins.

No plans left to cancel.

No schedule left to fight.

We're officially tomorrow AND STILL CALLING IT TONIGHT.

Two became three.

Three became four.

Every time we say we're leaving,

Somebody opens another door.

City getting quieter. Music getting loud.

Common sense went home already— WE'RE NOT FOLLOWING IT NOW.

Phone lights up:

5:12 A.M.

Oh.

That's...

not ideal.

Somebody asks:

“Breakfast?”

Now you're making sense.

WRONG SIDE OF MIDNIGHT!

Now the sky's turning blue!

Piano lost

its fucking mind And the violins did too!

Let the horns punch through!

Let that smoky sax ignite!

We left home yesterday—

AND WE'RE STILL CALLING IT TONIGHT!

Sun coming up. Cab pulls in.

Driver asks: “Long night?”

Nah. Short morning.