Pull up a chair… why don’t you?
Sit with me… drink a few
Together we can drown our sorrows, chew the absolute fat
Weather this particular storm
Earmark what’s a little odd, what might be the norm
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, pat one another on the back just yet
‘Til before too long we both find ourselves floating around on an all too false ego-trip
A kind that will do us no favours, leave us no less and certainly no more than ill-equipped
Tell me, what is it exactly that you might like, might want?
Remember, I may be the Hollywood actor, but you’re the director
So bottom line is this, in the end it will always come down to just one thing,  your mesmerising font