A drink on the nightstand calls
To me who would be the listener
To hear what he has to say
About what happens in this room.
The water within the pale, clear cup
Is lined with lipstick and plastic
But all the while he still cries
As though the lips who touch him are his.
A drink on the nightstand screams my name
Come and taste what I have to give
But I know that one sip of his poisonous nectar
And no longer my life shall I live
For you are the drink within its tall
Drink on the nightstand that calls.