He sits and stares, waiting for thunder
After awhile, I started to wonder
How he got so hollowed out

I didn't even recognize him yesterday

The clock ticks like a small drop of water

The clouds roll in the sun starts to fade away
As the rain comes down he begins to pray


Now it's the dealer's turn to fold
Cause the charade is getting old
You can sit and wait for lightning to strike

But the wind will takes its toll

He lifts his head, gets up in a daze

Out of the fog and into a maze
That's the way it starts everyday


So it seems the well's running dry
All he does is look up to the sky and beg
Laughing as they hand him a dead bouquet


That's all
Let me know when this all sinks in

Last call, last call
The lights are on but you're not leaving