Honest As A Drunk Man Gets
I was 468 miles away,
thinkin’, “Baby, would ya catch me on the next one?”
The hairs on her arm would stick up
and she’d think to herself:
Ain’t no way he’s still thinkin’ ’bout me.
Well, listen, honey,
I know I’m a ramblin’, self-centered little prick,
but I gotta be honest—
I shoulda been the one to marry you.
Weeks pass and I forget
the smell of you,
the texture of your lips
and what they did to my soul…
but that’s not what I’m tryin’ to say.
My fiancée is in the other room,
likely entertainin’ a funner guy
who’d offer the moon.
I kill a pint of whiskey,
pass out,
and here I am, dreamin’ of you.
Morning comes, my head throbs,
but my heart hurts worse.
468 miles away,
yet moments ago we danced on the floor.
I kiss my ole lady, one eye open,
guardin’ my throat.
The light peck she gives lets me know
I’m not guilty
for clingin’ to hope—
the hope of seein’ you again,
down on the bathroom floor,
wishin’ you’d come around
just a lil bit more
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