Alcohol


I can’t: remember where I’ve been,
jumbles of: cutting-room floor scenes.
Build fragments of my life.
Seems like: each and every friend
knows more: ’bout the time I spend,
the demons which I fight.

I feel the pressure in my head,
can see fifteen types of red.

Gimme a drink, I need alcohol.

I’ve done: stuff to make me proud.
Bin a: lone voice in a crowd.
Nailed my colours to the mast.
Some say: it’s plain, dumb stubborness,
I’ve bin: plagued by their bad press,
banished and outcast.

I feel the pressure in my head,
can see fifteen types of red.

CHORUS

I’ve bin: swimmin’ ‘gainst the tide.
walked the walk with no free rides.
Watched the useless pass me by.
It wasn’t: good but I still smiled,
but now: I’m old, sore and tired.
guess it’s time to say goodbye.

Feel the noose around my neck,
I’m cashin’ in my life’s rain cheque.

CHORUS

©1.3.2018 Andrew Robert Chapman

Use “Tongue Oil”?

It wasn’t: good but it was wild.
Some say: it’s stubborness,
but y’know: I don’t care less.
Lookin’ after number one.
knows more: about my long weekends,
knows more: ’bout my long weekends,
all my days and nights.
Stuck by my guns./Lookin’ after number one.


%d bloggers like this: