Ain't nobody notices you-
'till the spot-light's on...

A smokey 'gray sigh- up
since three-in-the morn...

A stiff whisky breakfast-
stench lingers forth

and when, you, open-ya mouth-
the cold, pain'a the world, come rowlin' out.

And when, your, voice-'sprays that sound-
rattlin' round our ears like a chain.

Ya' seem old as dirt, man--
but hurt worse than your infant

***, after ya'daddy branded it--
w/ the knuck's a his backhand.

understandable why-
ya' wanna get higher,
than the fumes of ya' sapphire water.

This is all 'ya got left
'till death, comes an grants ya warmth.

and you're, all, lone till the demons
soar forth from 'ya soul.