Stilled dulled by the whisky yet crying out for more
my head is in the other place that time when laugh was pure
No work to have to make my mind to stop the dreaded fall
my drinking days are numbered ...gods time to make that call

You'll see me in the gutter all dressed from night before
Ive been that way for ages my smell is looking raw
I scrape and scrimp for tea sometimes when clear head wins me over
yet cider stops me shaking good ...that time from being sober

Been here for months its now my home my cardboard roof as shelter
a doorway in a suburb state a shop I cannot enter
no thought on time or day in night my life has gone its over
Oh coldness please just do your job ..yes father dear please answer