Killing Time

A cup of coffee, maybe two
What else is there to do?

A cigarette, maybe three
I don't know what else to do, you see.

A glass of wine, maybe four
What's the point of life anymore?

Waiting for a train, for lunchtime, for sun,
For that lover to call you "the one."

Waiting for glamour, for money, for fame,
Or just for some meaning to relight that flame.

What are you waiting for, or rushing to now?
We're spitting all these moments out

Waiting for something that will never arrive,
If we keep on killing time.