Last orders were an hour ago. Nobody’s moved.The bar’s the kind that doesn’t advertise. Low ceiling, warm light, sticky floor, a jukebox that only plays what it feels like. He’s been in the corner since soundcheck, drink he isn’t drinking, waiting on a lift that isn’t coming.Alright, hold on tight, he’s the Highway Star.
Highway Star
Last orders were an hour ago.
Nobody’s moved.
The bar’s the kind that doesn’t advertise.
Low ceiling, warm light, sticky floor, a jukebox that only plays what it feels like.
He’s been in the corner since soundcheck, drink he isn’t drinking, waiting on a lift that isn’t coming.
Alright, hold on tight, he’s the Highway Star.