Stumbling into the night with heavy eyes,
Blood shot and shot up.
Bumming cigarettes by the roadside,
As heeled hookers cat call towards beat up trucks.
With a cap for collecting rusted cents,
And a thin sleeping bag torn at the seams.
The street lights glare down upon my body,
And penance me for littering the pavement.
Buy me a beer and you’ll hear my story,
Of booze, pills, shooting up and losing everything.
It’s not an uncommon tale,
But it is mine to tell.
