Waking up in some
Seedy room
Stinking of ***
And cigarette smoke
And cheap ***** perfume
Can’t remember the night
Your wallet is empty
Emptier than what it was
Before last night
Hating yourself
Hating this life
Yet it beats
Being a robot
Conforming
To repetition
Of jobs and wife
And kids and taxes
And worry and troubles
The clocks ticking
The time wasting
Away telling
Yourself that you
Are happy when you
Know you are sad so sad
Better to not remember
The past night
Or where you are
Or what happened
Or anything at all
And to drink and smoke
And **** through life
And die
At the least
You died with some
Soul
Even if a weak
Soul
But you didn’t sell it.