Nothing A Shot Of Whiskey Wouldn't Fix

Some guy who looks and talks like a shoe shine asks me for bus fare
And the homeless guy begging across the street is listening to an iPod
The streets smell like smoke and petrol and sound like clockwork

The charcoal faces of the weak and wretched
Arms scabby and bleeding
And maybe it’s the clockwork streets
Or maybe just the ticking in your head
But it feels like the doom clock is winding down
Hell, its nothing a shot of whiskey wouldn’t fix

Some teenage monkeys are screeching
And tearing strips into the night
And you wonder why they feed alcohol to these goddamn kids

The pavement is washed with blood and urine and vomit
And probably tears, but you can’t smell sorrow
And the bitterness of it all runs right through you

And, when all’s said and done you know there has to be a happy ending
Somewhere
Somewhere
But like I said, nothing a shot of whiskey wouldn’t fix

Actually, better leave the bottle.

Nothing A Shot Of Whiskey Wouldn't Fix

Wordslinger

Brisbane, Australia

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