The Bottle and Me
the jukebox in the corner haunts this baroom like
a ghost.
Lonley is the soul under the neon light that serves
as the host.
Broken knuckles and shattred dreams.
We spend are time chasing empty lovers.
But it always comes back to the bottle
it does seem.
The blues are like a old friend.
To many shallow hearts.
But apon this smoke filled companion I can
depend.
The mirror just above the sink.
Reflects the truth.
As the bottle helps me not to think.
I put it down a time are two.
Found it helped fill a void.
Answered the question for which i had no
clue.
Left many a broken heart in the dust.
Was it a cowards lie.
A onenight stand a moments passion laced
with lust.
Misspelled thoughts apon napkins in a room were it's not
so easy to see.
In a dark lit corner.
Sits the bottle and me.
People gatherin to pass the time women askin
for a light.
Shadows hide the scars from many a drunken
fight.
The blues it knows us so very well.
Stories of legend.
Of which the poets do tell.
Busted knuckles and broken hearts.
Worn out lies and false starts.
The worn out veteran trying to forget.
The once young dreamer.
Who now lives to regret.
We are bound by chains no eye may see.
So is the case of the
bottle and me.
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