<\/p>\n
I<\/p>\n
it’s time again
\nto tell that familiar tale
\nof drinking and thinking with
\nbarely an inkling of
\nhow to survive in a
\ntormented world
\nthe cats don’t seem to mind though
\nthe dog is confused, the birds
\nare free they just keep singing,
\nthe crickets are silent
\nand the humans,
\nwell they just don’t know\u2026yet
\nmost times it scares me and
\nthrills me to go
\ndown this road
\nso unsure the destination
\ni might end up lighting fires,
\nfeel lonely, mad or try
\nto overthrow the government
\non nights like this
\nthe beer goes down so quickly, smooth
\nsometimes it’s easier to see, to feel
\nthe addicts, the slaves
\nthey don’t understand this process
\nnothing has to make sense
\nmeaning is so arbitrary
\nstrange words for a hungry soul
\nat this hour the light is
\njust too bright
\ntone it down friend, relax,
\nand let it go
\nslip into the warm boozy embrace
\ntill it smothers you, comforts you
\ndon’t ever tell me to stop
\ni can’t, i won’t
\nif i do, i\u2019ll die\u2026slow
\ncould it be that’s what bothers me most?
\nthe change, shifting sands
\nthere are days when
\ni want them all to go away
\nand others when
\ni wish they’d never left
\nrum transforms me into a pirate,
\ntequila into a conquistador
\nand beer just makes me a common drunk
\na philosopher without a cause
\nnow, the goddamn beer is running strait
\nthrough me, i have to piss,
\nanother interruption, distraction
\nsometimes i just have to say NO
\nsuck in that silence for awhile
\nand be content with the uneasy
\nfeeling of boredom
\ni knew from a young age, i think
\nthat this is how it would all end<\/p>\n
II<\/p>\n
the friars are brewing their lonely brew
\njust for me perhaps, and maybe for
\nall the other tragic rippers
\nthe moon\u2026Ohh how she
\nconspires to get me drunk
\ncandles are burning down now
\nslowly at least
\nthis body of work should
\nnever see the light of day
\nmy meaning may be lost
\nor wasted on all of you
\nit’s almost better than sex
\ncurling up with this
\nslight madness, a megalomania of sorts
\nthat fire keeps burning,
\ndim at times, but the embers are still there
\na reminder
\nthat’s what keeps me going after all
\nwriting has a way of
\ndiminishing that lost feeling
\nthe fragrance of ink, paper,
\ntobacco, and beer
\nalmost feels like home
\nmaybe it’s a cancer
\na cancer of the mind
\nthe floodgates are now open
\nheaven help us all
\nthat catholic guilt is
\ncreeping in
\nit seems the crickets have
\nconquered the birds
\nsongs of the night are
\nfar more dangerous
\nsubtle and alluring
\nyet the sound of traffic is
\nmaking me crazy(er)
\nit’s all so much to take in
\nor let out (depending on your point of view)
\nbut at 10 pm i feel older and,
\nthe streets seem empty now, why?
\nthe drunken mistress of sleep
\nis trying to claim me as her own
\nafraid to stop I am
\ncause then i\u2019d be one of you
\nand I might dream
\nmy dog has become content
\nand the cats\u2026
\nthey’re still watching,
\nthat’s all they ever do
\ni think that they’re gods in disguise
\nmonitoring, evaluating us
\nfor some bigger purpose
\nit usually ends this way
\nalone and drunk
\nsleeping with your mask left on
\nand only the gods to keep you company<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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