The Bar
Its are church the place of confession were no one cares to listen.
They just gather to wait collecting dust and and spots on there livers.
The poetic fool who's blind to the truth.
And the beaten down and bitter old fighter.
Who missed his chance.
Who's last fight was with a cop who tried to give him a DUI.
Four broken ribs and a lot of booze and years later here he sits.
Shot of old crow and a beer.
He's sat in thta same spot for so many year i belive he's grown onto the
bar stool itself.
That pulling him from it would take a act of God or some old fashioned dynamite
to pry his ass from it.
He's the past and my future staring through me like a ghost.
His horse voice echo's I'll forget more than you'll ever learn still stays
with me to this very day.
The bar it's my refuge from all.
And as long as i have the money I can spend my hours within it's confines.
away from all thoose dellusional pains in the ass that love to tell
whats wrong with you.
Never once looking at themselves or wondering why people part like the red sea to avoid
them.
Cowards and theives and then theres bad people to.
Who sell hope dope.
Belive in this do as i say and you can be as misreble as me.
Where do I sign up.
The bar its the last resort of sanity.
Or at least a place where lifes problems can be fixed with some quarters for the
jukebox a beer and a shot.
Copyright © Tony Clffton | Year Posted 2009
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