Monday, January 24, 2011

Bottleneck Blues

The morning sun rises, and sets in turn
While the smoke rings still spiral and the paper still burns
I’m dreaming a while of when the levee broke
And scrounging a bottle, a guitar, a smoke

Watered down whiskey is like fading desire
I’d say I’m okay, but it’ll make me a liar
We’ve been screaming for years, been a while since we spoke
I’ll lean on a bottle, a guitar, a smoke

I’m strung up and crazy and speaking in tongues
And childish and stuck up and forever young
And doped up and washed up and worthless and broke
Sold it all for a bottle, a guitar, a smoke

I sing myself hoarse just to drown out the sound
Oh please don’t come looking, I won’t be around
I’ll seamlessly blend in with those gentle folk
Who live on a bottle, a guitar, a smoke

I’m thumbing my way to the next nameless town
To the next faceless lady who won’t turn me down
Our hands intertwined, the fires we’ll stoke
Then cry, sharing a bottle, a guitar, a smoke

I live life in tatters, I’m dressed up in rags
Keep singing my anthems and waving my flags
While I keep reliving the same sorry joke
‘bout the man with a bottle, a guitar, a smoke.

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