This place is empty except for the stationary bottles of whiskey and barstools still standing concussion headache from blissful evening of confusion
intentions shattered by conventions traditionalized and bland with boredom searched over and feared of hatred is the cursed habit of the hardest working
drinkin' beers in the pouring rain dupont circle summer again jack in' wheels just for fun I was only 13 watch your step, but it's always the same your
I'm flying off the handle again I tried to keep in touch but my grip has loosened the saints need a second look I'm at the boreal banquet keeping warm
he was spoken to just to be put down and he was 22 when helped off the ground beaten black and blue when his color was brown and shining shoes in a dirty
"hello again," you say to the folks at the E.D.D. you've been dire and disgusted and come in most everyday to keep yourself alive you have insults and
I'm burning in this pit I dug myself an hour ago and up around the corner lies that bastard pub's front door and in my many changin moods and on similar
I have crossed this road before for many years I'm sure don't recognize the faces though that pass me by I've been off and on my way again passed marsh
They've laid to rest morality, blessed themselves with immortality gazed into the eyes of innocents as the blade was pulled out merrilyI'd beg and plead
I can't believe the things you say to me are so boring I can't believe anything you do to me is done sober I can't obtain a sense of patience, and I
the day grows old and gray with rain skies and the troubles keeping you are likewise go to bed after television as outside the moon is turning crimson
I've been dishelved by this drink, by the pint's sight and stink never enough times to stop and make me think I've wrapped around some fingers, riddles
born on the southside, you live alone four walls and a roof but's always cold look out the window and there is nothing to see but, a riot torn city and
past the desolation in them is realized the drama of frustration taken paths worn down with life, sanctified with tension oh, the glory of a working day
Give me just a second to grasp your two-bit theories as that's more than enough time I need to see through their innate queries you're telling me to