Quarter

The trip down the strip
on a Friday night
stray dog sniffing garbage cans.
Fixed his gaze but he lost his sight,
makes his way with his hands.
It made sense to him at some point.
It doesn't anymore.
He wants to make it work
the way it worked before.

A walk by the docks
when the workday's done
the river's pretty by the moon.
And if his soul is what the workday wants
she will have it soon.
He'd like to try again, knowing what he knows
You go around once
I guess that's how it goes.

The trip down the strip
on a Friday night.
I'm always walking home.
Do what you want, you didn't do it right
you're better off alone.