Honky-Tonk Ballad

Honky - Tonk Ballad  

 

There is a knock on the cheap hotel's door to no answer 

an empty bottle of whiskey broken on the floor.

a revolver fallen under the night stand.

behind the headboard a single bullet hole in wall.

 

Mothers cry from away and far off 

like a tree in the woods never heard by a single lost soul.

pile of cigarettes clog the chipped ceramic ashtray. 

the last dog-end has long ago burned down.

 

Just another lonely night. 

In some no named god forsaken backwoods shitburg town.

just a shitstain on the roadmap he liked to refer to as his life 

the one he wrote those great honky-tonkin' ballads about.

 

TV is tuned to some random channel  

the rabbit ears all askew.

the carpet never was all that clean to begin with.

and the maid would've wished to avoid the view.

 

An old six string Martin sits abandoned in the corner. Tuned slightly flat outside the key of E.

shower has been running for several hours. 

Cracked mirrors are all fogged over with steam.

 

Just another lonely night. 

In some no named god forsaken backwoods shitburg town.

Just a shitstain on the roadmap he liked to refer to as his life 

the one he wrote those great honky-tonkin ballads about.

 

The telephone wrenched from the outlet 

the broken handset cradling the wall.

the ice in the whiskey glass has melted. 

and the ac can't dispel the smell.

 

Scent of anger and desperation still linger in the air 

much like cobwebs to the paint peeling walls. 

the bible that would've heard the last confession 

was stolen by some thieves two nights ago and then smoked.

 

Sirens in the distance are wailing 

like demons drunk on lust. 

though the outcome in these types of matters 

can only turn one way. 

with a chorus of repetitive expletives. T

he guests had no choice but started to wonder. 

what would drive someone into such a fit of rage.

 

Just another lonely night. 

In some no named god forsaken backwoods shitburg town.

Just a shitstain on the roadmap he liked to refer to as his life 

the one he wrote those great honky-tonkin ballads about.

 

One day they might be able to make sense of it all 

by piecing together what is known 

and what had been left behind 

hints of sorrow hide behind the eyes of the employees 

as they do their best to reassure the folks 

so they can get some sleep tonight

 

She shows up with hair all disheveled. 

makeup slightly out of place. 

though on her face the familiar mask that she wears is sadness. hints of something much more sinister proudly lie beneath

 

What exactly could drive someone to do this. 

was it the whiskey 28 shots is a lot. 

she tells them somehow someway she'll make it through this and from her flask she takes another shot.

 

Just another lonely night. 

In some no named god forsaken backwoods shitburg town.

Just a shitstain on the roadmap he liked to refer to as his life 

the one he wrote those great honky-tonkin ballads about.

 

Rumors like hookers have already started spreading 

in fact they've reached the dive-bar two towns down 

most of the drunks they never knew them 

they all just shake their heads 

quick to order up another round.

 

A coin is heard dropped into the juke box 

the sounds of strings and brass soon fill the bar 

some old crooner starts a wailin' 

playing a broke-up honkey-tonk love song 

on  that very same Martin guitar.