Another Cup of Coffee Before I Shower

Guitar and Coffee Cup
(c)2015 Michael Dickel

It’s nine in the morning and I’ve been going for hours.
The ground shook in Nepal, the riots in Baltimore—
the preachers praise the winners then they blame the sinners,
but all I think about is another cup of coffee before I shower.

All I want is another cup of coffee before I shower.

It’s nine in the morning and I’m already weary.
The politicians jockey with faces serious and sallow—
they stitch up innocence from the pockets of the rich,
but as I stare at my screen my eyes just become bleary.

All I want is another cup of coffee before I shower.

It’s nine in the morning and my work sighs and waits.
The bankers line up, the merchants sell their weapons—
Syria, Libya, Iran, Irag, wars with customers for the stores,
but I worry about my retirement investments’ sorry state.

All I want is another cup of coffee before I shower.

Nine in the morning, or maybe nine at night.
The chaos dances to the wild fire light, the darkness
wraps us in its smothering traps, depleting what’s left
of meaning and hope, but I, I just survive with my fright.

All I want is another cup of coffee before I shower.

It’s nine in the morning and I can’t put on my shoes.
I don’t understand why I feel so depressed, do you?
My screens bring me the news, entertain, I see a lot,
but I sit and I wonder, I wonder who invented the blues?

All I want is another cup of coffee before I shower.

It’s nine in the morning, I’ve been going for hours.
The ground shook in Nepal, the riots in Baltimore—
the preachers, they praise the winners while they blame the sinners,
but all I think about is another cup of coffee, another cup of coffee

before I shower. All I want is another
cup of coffee before I shower.
All I think about is another cup of coffee
before I take my morning shower.