Thanks For Nothing (At All)

I'm feelin' mighty lonesome, haven't slept a wink;

I walk the floor from nine to four, in between I drink

Black coffee -- love's a hand-me-down brew.

I'll never know a Sunday in this weekday room.



I'm talkin to the shadow one o'clock till four,

And Lord, how slow the moments go and all I do is pour

Black coffee since the blues caught my eye;

I'm hangin' out on Monday my Sunday dreams to dry.



Now man is born to come a-lovin',

And a woman's born to weep and fret

To stay at home and tend her oven

And down her past regrets in coffee and cigarettes.



I'm moonin' all the mornin', moanin' all the night

And in between it's nicotine and not much heart to fight.

Black coffee -- feelin' low as the ground.

It's drivin' me cra - zy, this waitin' for my baby

'Til he come a - roun 'til he come around.