GRAVEYARD OF EMPTY BOTTLES

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?