its after hours in this meaningless struggle of a bar
concave in funds keeping only the faithful within its doors
under lock and key
and those doors, have locked me out refusing to let me swallow some poison
i'm no longer content with this empty street
and this empty pint glass, i've filled it with my own vomit.
what i've just spewed between the product of blown glass and extensive heat
is the remainder of my childhood
the few drops of passion left
the forgotten memories
i've fought for them with tooth and nail
i'm under review against gods court
and lady liberty has her own fucking line drawn
lacquer and liquor
lime and bile
bottoms up
forage for food alliterate every single dream you've dreamnt about me
sin into a series of heathen pride
i don't even know myself
but i'm pushing myself to years of decay
