From behind the bar I recall what led me here.
Not to see people fight over  spots on a board.
But to bring them togather as friends.
Not drive them apart as enimies.

To see the glass stay  full.
And the spirts to bring cheer.
Jokes hold truth.
As the jester I know pain.

Smells of perfume and smoke beautiful eye's
and that invisable desire.
We dance in hope of capturing life.

To embrace in darkness.
The page can never capture the passion
of two lovers spark.

From behind the bar  I see life
for more than what others belive  it is.
Jokes comfort as the flirt kisses  the ego.

Napkins written with numbers passed encounters
promised.
Some never to know the light of day.

Hungover friends  gather whiskey  laced
plessures  with a tinge of regret.
But life is one play  my friends  that no
single act shall we froget.

The drink sit's neat apon the bar.
You can see blindley for years.
And never know who people truley are.

Drinks as people dont last long.
They gleam the same under neon light.
So friends always mix them strong.

In a old house far from the jersy shore.
Ghouls gather for in a vancant house.
For a birthday party and something more.

Pirates and she devils elvira  a mummy or two.
They awoke some old demons.
Playing games over some witches brew.

But some things are better left alone.
Trapped in the barbwire  so obscene.
They choose to raise some hell can someone text save us
on there cellphone.
The head cheerleader is now tonights top scream queen.

Nowhere to run there fighting shadows pleading for light.
It's a hell of a party.
A cake with many lit fingers  the demon wishes
you a happy ****** birthday tonight.

Scream and cry and pray to see tommorow.
Drink the witches brew.
And drown in the endless sorrow.

All victems are welcome no need for a invite.
deep in the woods its the perfect party spot.
For a demonic birthday night.

If drinking were a sport.
I think Id take the gold.
Even without your support.

But if it there were such a whiskey laced dream.
I think  id have to start my own drinking team.

You know in wine.
We could clean house.
With Baths everytime.

For the wild turkey relay yours truley Gary and Jack
would hold it down.
Make the whole team hello including Elliot frown.

Chris can drink his weight in Guinness.
and so easily win us a god medal for sure.
Who need  rehab  were in trainning  no problem to cure.

All the rest of the HP family  will  hang there head in
shame.
Cause when it cause when it comes to beer pong  
weve never lost a single game.

Thank God  for Paula. and Kerry cause sombobodys
gotta stay sober to remember the story.
And we always got Golden  to write about are glory.

And amoungst are group Danny is the youngest in
are humble dive.
Even if he doesnt have a license .
Id rather let him than my drunk *** drive.

In the   showcase  are  medals shall gleam.
Do you think your liver could handle.
Being part ofthe pubs drinking team

At nights when they stumble back to there corners of the world I
sit keeping the neon cast shadows company.
Old dust covred piano  plays to a concert of  empty stools  and
a old ghost or two.

The music fades  like a smoke ring to vanish where none will know.
As a homeless soul stumbles from the shadowsto cross the
empty street.

The glass sits half empty as I continue to play.
As beaten as a broken tail  alley cat.
We all yern for comfort  but in this life.
Often were met with a back hand.

I play as nothing will ever change.
The broken soul   so very tender and strange.

And wait for the for them to return from there corners.
To mask my troubles and fill this dark empty bar.

And the scars you  call  sovaneirs that mark your
arms and haunt your dreams.
The canvas tattred at times.
belongs to a tortured artist it seems.

Beatings breed the monster none will ever know.
Cast into the emptyness as a child.
Cries fell apon deaf ears screams in need of a direction
to go.

No photos or memories past do I
tressure.
the outcast understands the truth.
And does reside with the pain of plessure.

And the wicked will always find.
A subject so innocent.
For the weak are always left behind.

Blood apon the hands secrets eat at the soul
like a cancer.
Insanity has no reason.
Questions are asked for which i have no answer.

From chaos ive risen to bury that ghost.
Taken a form of a clown.
trapped within a prison this shell is but
a tempary host.

underneath the laugther it always does exist.
Passed of in conversations
Im fine I always insist.

It's no worry it's only a part time
lessure.
In the emptyness of my darkend soul.
I know the true pain of plessure.

This is just a simple write  .
Came up with it lastnight.
Right befor I hit the floor.
Fell on my face yet for some odd reason
my backsides  sore.

Drinking with Jack can be  trip.
Joking one minute  next he'll give ya a fat lip.

But im not the kinda fella that does cry.
He's a crazy ******  but I love the guy.

A demented view.
Totally a hatter so am I two.

When Im off he always takes up the slack
Cheers my semi insane brother Jack.

I looked at the room  broken bottles  blood fragments of clothes.
maybe a tooth  from somebody not fast are to drunk to get outta the way  of a conversation turned bad.

The juke box had almost  made it threw  but it just had  to
play that one song that caused  it to become a target  
for a flying cue ball.

And I herd someone speaking to the toilet I thought maybe
I wasnt that hungry after all.
As to what caused the  riot slash  the human tornado of fun I cannot say
But in my opinion that jukebox had it coming  always  playing the wrong songs at the  right time no one likes a *******.

And that drag queen could sure throw  a mean left hook.
While looking fierce and lip sinking to madonna at the same time that my friends take true talent .

Seems as though  the register had went on vacation  but they
left the wild turkey and pretzels  thank god  happy hour was almost apon us.

And theres nothing worse than telling a proffesional drinker as myself
theres no snacks  it's like tellinga kid theres no santa claus.
And that big fat guy in the red suit  with his little dwarfs  
were really just some of momies friends.

I always wondred why santa was so into  getting the crap beat outta him
by a woman in a latex outfit calling herself mistress Claus.

Yes coffee always made things better mixed with some  of  my personal corn whiskey  yeah grandpa   may went insane and herd voices from drinking the stuff  but at least he always had someone to talk to.

As I looked at the chaos that was my headquarters  memories  came to me in a flood   the booth were I   met  my first wife.
that same booth were i caught  her with my best friend and worst enemy  and santa  i swear he gets around.

So much for online dating dam you napster.
I should just stick with street walkers  and circus people.

And I think after  my tweenty first DUI  
that it was good i never had a license to start with.
cause i really hate losing anything.

It's a shame about my mind.

So really other than this little get togather turned riot turned  
love in turned back to brawl  turned into
big kid slumber party.

It was after the jukebox had to put in it's two cents
that it all turned to ****.

For nothing kills the mood worse than a bad song
at the right time.

Love  always  Dr Gonzo