No point dying of patience
Patiently waiting for your number to be called
I find myself lying on my bed
Wishing the ceiling was blue sky instead
Wishing for blue sky

So I wait table after table into the wee small hours
Eyeing up the tip-jar 'til it overflows
And so it goes and I write my postcards from the edge
With a promise, unspoken, to keep going 'til there's nothing left
Wishing for blue sky

No point pointing the finger
Patiently waiting for your clouds to burst
So dig, dig, dig a well today
For tomorrow's tomorrow's thirst
Wishing for blue sky