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In Annandale, the air is light,
The moon drapes silver over night.
A whispering breeze, a tender hush,
The world slows down, no need to rush.
Through foggy panes, the glow is clear,
A haven waits for dreamers near.
Streetlights Billiards Academy,
Open arms, eternally.
A cue, a ball, a fleeting chance,
To sharpen skill, to take a stance.
Chasing the better, the perfect play,
Through Annandale nights, we find our way.
The crack of balls, a soft refrain,
Echoes down the quiet lane.
A canvas green, a world apart,
Where patience paints the player's art.
Tables gleam like polished dreams,
Where nothing's ever as it seems.
Angles, lines, and steady hands,
Each shot a hope that understands.
Streetlights Billiards Academy,
Open arms, eternally.
A cue, a ball, a fleeting chance,
To sharpen skill, to take a stance.
Chasing the better, the perfect play,
Through Annandale nights, we find our way.
