Michael

Well I sit here and drink beer and examine my life
but the waitress keeps catching my eye
I don’t know her name, though I can’t help but smile
‘til I realize she’s looking at some other guy

Oh I know that the bar back can relate to my pain
as his chest heaves that all knowing sigh
and the barkeep, he won’t weep ‘cause he know that there’s no
excuse while in public for a grown man to cry

Chorus:

Oh won’t you please Peter, come give me a hand
I’m tired of waiting in this Neverland
There’s no Wendy here for me, you understand
It’s time to go

Well my friend, see he knows me and can tell I’m in pain
so he does all that any friend can
he speaks to the barkeep, pulls out a few bills
and comes back to the table with a pitcher of Sam

So we sit and commit our attention down front
to the man with the Gibson guitar
with glass raised we give praise to the lyrics he sings
and in a matter of minutes we’ll be back at the bar

[chorus]

Soon because the applause dies our musical friend
slowly packs up that magic guitar
and we all hear “Last Call!” resound through the room
as everyone settles their tabs at the bar

And at night’s end my good friend looks over at me
and he swears it’ll all work out right
and besides he decides that if all else should fail
we’ll just end up back here next Wednesday night

[chorus]