The Magical Hour

Every single day,
There’s a magical hour.
Between 10 and 11,
When we have super human power.

The future is bright,
With a beer in your hand.
You can climb any mountain,
Form a number one band.

You will tell your boss,
Exactly what you think.
Nothing can hold you back,
When you’re on your fourth drink.

Tomorrow is yours,
To start a new life.
You’re strong and you’re powerful,
And up for the fight.

You can achieve the impossible,
And now it’s hard to sleep,
When you’re thinking about,
All of the summits you’ll reach.

But then 6 AM hits,
With a deafening sound.
The cold light of day,
And a yawn and a frown.

There’s bills to pay,
A promotion to reach.
And the courage is lost,
To make that new speech.

So we stand in the rain,
And wait for the bus.
Do we stay where we are?
Are our dreams worth the fuss?

Our passion has died,
What on earth were we thinking?
When we sat up at night,
Making plans and drinking.

We can’t risk our jobs,
For a half-thought-through-plan.
So we plod through the day,
Never achieving what we can.

If only we could capture,
The positive strong nights.
And carry them at day,
Our dreams still alight.

But the night and the day,
And the you that they bring,
Will probably never meet,
And that’s a very sad thing.

Who knows what you could be,
Could achieve and could see,
If the night-time you,
Didn’t pack up and leave.