I clutch all my cups again
a flask, a fifth, a brew.
And I hop on the shelf again.
Faces soaked in perfume.

An old friend escorts me home.
He tends to drag me back way past 2.
"This world ain't a place for the drunk" he says
and he waits 'till I wake up at noon.

A hand glides through my hair again
with confidence that I tend to lack.
A kiss, bought with a drink again,
Five bucks that I'd rather take back.

I waste all my paint again
on drawings of beaches and birds.  
Blue fades into grey again
I drain off and start scribbling words.

And I claim that my philosophy
explains all my books and their flaws.
But I stack them up on the shelf again
to decorate my bedroom wall.
They look pretty on my bedroom wall.

_


Then she cracks a smile again
her gait, her eyes, and her soul
reflect mankind's greatest commodity:
the promise of a greater hope.

And I dream all my dreams again,
sleepwalking through my life.
Don't you dare wake me up I say,
how I long for that spark in her eyes.