Bottle In Front Of Me Vs. Frontal Lobotomy

A little ode to the potential horrors of sobriety by Shane Gilliver and myself…

* * *
DRY
* * *

Dry for days, the brown breath of the barroom stinks and stales and stays

Stuck between the cold of the glass, and the cold of the shoulder
The practise of abstinence makes the heart colder

Time grows as thin, thin as the blood of the man who’s drowning in

It’s not mother’s ruin that’s so busy screwin’ you
but father’s self loathing distilled and then drank, it’s true
For beer may be brother to bruise, and a midwife to misery
But you take it away, then you’ll see (then we’ll all see)

Time grows as thin, thin as the blood of the man who’s drowning in
Time grows so thin, thin as the grave we’ll all be drowning in

They’re waiting to drink and their tempers are frayin
Blood-alcohol’s boilin and people are prayin
Half empty or full none of them need remindin
There’s air where the drink should be flashin and blindin
and burning their throats, dulling senses and vision
Avoiding the punch and the slash, the incision
They’re moanin and bitchin, their gun fingers itchin
Their blackjacks feel heavy, their switch blades a-switchin

Time grows thin, spill the blood of the man who’s drowning in
Time grows so thin, spill the blood of all the men who’re drowning in

Never! (Never)

Never ask why, no, never ask why, the answer is DRY

© MB 2014

 

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~ by benjaminlouche on July 4, 2014.

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