sitting in a square room
my voice is freezing
and the beams that are bouncing off the moon
are hanging from my window like icicles
just a tired old alcoholic
waxing bucolic
shivering and homesick
staring at a wooden floor
staring at a wooden floor
last night i nearly killed myself
chasing rum with rum
there were crows flying all around my head
and i sure caught and ate me some
funny how i alienated
those who i was trying just so
so hard to impress
now half those fuckers hate me
and i'm just a fool to all the rest
why do i insist on drinking myself to the grave?
why do i dream about cozy coffin?
i had all these plans of great things to accomplish
but i end up purely pathetic more than often
sitting in a square room
my voice is freezing