He sits and waits at the bar. Scans the room for a mark and puts the bodies to work. Raises the glass to his lips, drinks and tries to forget the bodies washing ashore. Long for the taste and the sting; the joy and pain that it brings to help quiet the nerves. Came back home with a curse; the bend, guilt and the weight, the bane of blood in his veins, a rotting gut full of hurt. “I’ll take the blame I deserve, let the cold world do its worst.” “We try to hide from death but it keeps calling us in.” Trialed, empty, erased. He wears the years on his face. Thumbs a coin in his palm. “One more for luck, then I’m gone.” Every day and night; laid out and desperate, bloodied and broken
Paroles2Chansons dispose d’un accord de licence de paroles de chansons avec la Société des Editeurs et Auteurs de Musique (SEAM)
