I sit here on the ground
In a graveyard of empty bottles.
Smoking a cigarette
And shedding a liar's tear.
In my state of mind
It doesn't matter all that much.
I can hear the demons,
and they're playing the blues.
The angels join in on the vocals, of course.
The choir of angels and the devils sound.
This isn't pretty music.
It's not nice music.
It's the kind of noise
That makes you want to SCREAM!
Whatever, I guess it's better than silence.
Damn cigarette smoke
Shit burns my eyes.
I try to stand
But my inebriated legs fight me.
My vision isn't very clear anymore
I thought I had another bottle up here.
Through whiskey saturated eyes,
I notice something.
I'm not in the graveyard anymore.
I'm drowning in the bottle I'm holding.
And I don't know if I want to be saved.
I take a single step and fall face first
back into the graveyard of empty bottles.
As I sit here on the ground
pissing myself I wonder.
Should I be saved or just flushed down the toilet
I mean, that is where shit belongs, right?