Looking out the window into the drab
with the dying light of day graying sight
I will sometimes wage war against
the black hounds that rule my soul
in those twilight moments
before night spreads her a*s
darkening the landscape
promising nocturnal pleasures
for the willing, lucky and the damned
Teetering on the cusp of self awareness
I am an old man
Raging against the clock
Raging against time
Raging against this forgotten, shriveled c**k
and all the women
who will never be mine
I was one skookum sonofabitch back then
My heart encased in leather and vain regrets