With conscience in tow.

I was drunk when i wrote this. i'm drunk when i write a lot of these things...

so i walk home
i walk alone
there's no one to call
but im still on the phone.

the night's dark
as it always is
the air's dry
as it always is
the people still shy away
from what little light's left
like a beaten child 
shrinks from the knife
in the way it always is.

so i get home
the stove's still on
so i get home
all the ice is gone
so it's back to the streets i go
bottle in hand
and conscience in tow
all around the streets i go
with whiskey in hand i roam.

Reviews

[Astro]

For some reason I read this and the whole time it felt like a George Thoroughood song, and I could here him speak your words. Nice piece about sorrow.