I’m counting back
the number of the steps
it took for me to get
back on the wagon of the weekend
I’ll use the autotimer to prove that
I got home with my imagination
if they find the body in the basement
“in the very house that she was raised in!”
I’m taking down
the number of the Times
so when we get the sign
from god I’ll be the first to call them
I’m taking back the number of the beast
cause 6 is not a pretty number
8 or 3 are definitely better
a is for the address on the letter
to my alcoholic friends
I’m trying hard
not to be ashamed
not to know the name
of who is waking up beside me
or the date, the season or the city
but at least the ceilings very pretty
and if you are holding it against me
I’ll be on my best behavior
taking shots for mother nature
once my fist is in the cupboard
love is never falling over
should I choose a noble occupation
if I did I’d only show up late and
sick and they would stare at me with hatred
plus my only natural talent’s wasted on my alcoholic friends
my alcoholic friend