Modern love

The bitterness of beer is sweeter than performance

I find myself in a dim-lit pub garden on a Monday night in early spring,
I can hear last laughs of lost loves,
I’m reeling it in.
My beers tasting better now your on your way home,
I never thought I’d be gagging to drink alone,
But I was so bitterly sick of performing,
Laughing, lying, telling story’s your actively ignoring.
I’d rather be lonesome,
Romantically in debt,
Than alter and lose myself,
Over a man from the internet.