I, The Tenor

I was waiting for eight o'clock
As i waited, the slower the hands of time gets there.
At long last it was eight.
Yes. Excitement.

Low, husky, masculine voices i hear.
At long last they're here.

In circular form we sat.
In circular form we ate.
In circular form we drunk.

Comradely talks fill the air.
But alcohol intoxicates the brain.

You debunk deception.
I declaim defensively.
It was then an epiphany.
I should shut my mouth.

Low, husky, masculine voices i hear.
For the pitch of my voice does not make music with them.
Mine is higher than theirs.