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