The Bottle

Been thinking about what things I can sell,
To buy another bottle,
Been trudging through mud, snow, memories and hell,
Half bent and on half throttle,
Can't feel anything. Just remembering
How tall I am while drinking,
So sick of the sober, lame, lucid state
That leads to all this thinking.

I go down, down, down,
The same old road, where i've been,
And the sins that kept you around
Consume the flame, once again.

This town really sucks the spring out of you,
Behind my back they're talking,
If there was a single thing here to do,
My ass would be out walking,
But nobody buys used clothes or - God knows -
The drugs for mama's asthma,
Or cells phones or shoes so I can get booze,
Can't even sell my plasma.

I go drown, drown, drown,
Those memories and pain, where we've been,
And the sins that hold me down
Bring you back like a dream, once again.

When I'm feeling down and no one's around
To suck out all this poison,
A bottle of vodka straight seems to drown
A past that walls the noise in,
So I'm down on my knees now, promising God
My soul for two more dollars,
Like hundreds of times before I'm a fraud,
Seems God stopped minting quarters.

-Robert Kope