He was streched out on the floor
In room 1010
Half empty bottle of vodka
Next to his bed
Cheap replica crucifix
Tattooed on his hand
Just another night of devastating remorse
A drunk's course is rocky
And never smooth
Be a good little boy
Take a sip
One isn't a heavenly buzz
Hundred is never enough.

He wants to summon the courage
To ask her out
The tongue remains tied
His hands remain busy
What a lover he is
In his twisted head
What a loser he is
When she tells him to drop dead
So he turns to his suffering friend
Romancing the bottle is a story
Without an happy ending
Sending a last testament
Filled with promise
Drawing a sober breath
On the face of St.Thomas
A poor reason to cease the pretense.

Family wants to cut him out of the will
Too cheap to pay for a cardboard tombstone
Wash their hands in his poisoned blood
How convienent to excuse their part
In his untimely demise
Once it was funny to watch
Now it's painful to digest.

One more shot of whiskey
Another bellyful of wine
Here comes that familiar feeling again
Smother the shyness for
The world is mine
So immune to the elusiveness
Of borrowed time
Nary a thought of waking up
Tomorrow
Where hope plays second chair
To the maestro of sorrow
Bottle pursed to salivating lips
Shaking from limb to limb
This is heaven..

Apr-03-Perkins Rd.