2012/06/20

Salute - 2012/06/20

This scotch in my glass
Flows like terrible rain
I know there is no amount
That can really kill pain

Yet here I am in my chair
Ignoring a world at large
Infested with the sad news
That now lies in my charge

Fate is the vicious cunt
Whose path I choose to map
And when I am proven right
I find myself in its trap

While I am sober it mocks
Liquored up it gets worse
So here I am writing down
Words to decorate a hearse

How can tomorrow be coming
When today looms so strong
Can the world sleep soundly
When so much in it is wrong

With just one final snort
I will forget that I care
Yet it is wrong to forget
One who is no longer there

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