planes pass trains busy passing automobiles
always seems everyone has somewhere better to be
as is the case, we drift through lines from state to state
lifting bottles to withered lips and wash away her taste
been down for days hasn't seen the sun in weeks
hasn't cracked a sober smile in months, guess thats his prerogative

wakes to a day half done with a will half won
then wonders then what he's even doing here
wipes last nights drinks from his lips
clears this smoky haze with coffee and more cigarettes
cant seem to rinse the memories of what she left him to bear
just like the rosaries he doesn't feel worthy to wear
"saints and sailors earned theirs and i ain't done a thing"
so he slips back into empty eyes and yellowed smiles
sleeps in ruins on the bedroom floor between the space between the bed and wall
where every night he somehow finds a new way to fall

was it the look she gave you that made it seem so right?
what made that bad star seem so bright?
maybe it was nothing or maybe it seemed to be everything
just know there's no sense wasting your health on someone
who never really loved or respected you sweet child
she ain't worth the time every night you've wasted drinking with bukowski