One More Bottle
and the only sure thing is a cocktail napkin with waterglass rings soaking up my sorrows for all tomorrow's yesterdays' posterity and all tomorrow's parties were broken up by the police leaving people all dressed up with nowhere to go and having come from there to begin with everyone knows this is nowhere cheap vinyl covering the seats and the bar a formica top with paper coasters carefully strewn about to catch drinks as they land and sweat from their exertions sweat from being drunk and chilling the glass chilling my hand to the bone and the sinews peel off from frostbite as you look at me my skin turns red but it's not from blushing and i stare at my ice cubes wondering how long before they melt and pollute my painkiller for the night i want it pure and distilled i want it cold clear and coming along at five minute intervals the lights are low the music is forgettable and it's just some poor lonely bastard singing about spending another day night week month year alone or his lonely ol' bed and what the fuck is your problem anyway don't you know it's better off like this when your only friend is a bottle of the bombay blues and ice is its soul companion do you really want that misery again of feeling rent and torn of paying the piper only to have another landlord show up with another bill and your folds aren't bent anymore they tore years ago and your break hasn't healed and never will so set up the moonshine production line still and let's get down to some commiserating because there's still good times to be had and early times left on the shelf but the only good times i see now are at the bottom of an empty highball glass and they shimmer and dance in my drunken perception and sometimes they look like you but usually it's just light shining through the bottom hurting my eyes and i can't believe it still hurts