The bartendress drags the rag across the counter, it reeks of sour beer with a hint of bar lime.
The sign that burns with the words that say 'open' never says closed
it burns with welcomes to passersby til it dies.

Amidst the shuffling of feet, clinking of glasses and the same old bar tunes
there is a drone of conversation.

Some cheers to life with large cliques in ignorant bliss,
while others drink alone and realize its ignorance they miss.

Its soul displacement every night;
emptying bottles to fit more of your soul in through the bottles hole.

And the ***** likes to eat it'll inhale your salary if you let it.
Just so you can wake up and regret it.
Saying if i didn't feel ****** before i do now, time for a drink.

And any anonymous could tell you
the cycle can happen to anyone anonymously,
and you'll know its honesty.

So of course the drunks drink they have the coldest of sobering moments.
Like realizing the man in the mirror is their sole opponent.
Like conceding to themselves that the bottles their main component.
Broken down without it so they just continue to hold it.

The drunks don't find grace and can forget their own face,
The reflection of themselves is a stranger who glares unkindly and too real to ignore.

The moves they make heed no direction desired by minds
Instead they seek fuel for the fire of thee addiction.
Such real affliction.
It can become stranger the fiction
and is always bound to cause friction.

Cause a drunk looks for friends but will still drink alone freely
Pass the bottle to themselves and call it drinking in good company.

Theirs no room for friends and family at the bottom of an empty glass
and alas,
its a one man car
and a one way ride to being left on the side
of most things proved positive.

So if you run from your problems the bottle is no place to hide,
cause you can drain a whole bottle, but it can trap you inside.