In front of me I see a table A table full of vices A table which remembers the nights before Covered in evidence of vices Coca cola and Pepsi labels stare each other down A beer cap and cigarette ash and packs crumpled down An empty water bottle A cellphone and a lighter Littered with change is the table Covered in nickels and quarters George Washington's looking forward onto Golden Arches Around the table the chairs are still pushed out from the people who brought him them Left now but ghosts haunt the places they have emptied They beg for anyone to notice the hell they are in They scream look at what I have left you as a message Look at my vices! The sections are mapped out on the top of this table Each vice has a person and each one a label And the labels they leave are the proof there's a problem They turn to these vices and hope they will solve them