Not your average cryin' in
your beer bar song. No
not at all.  In this tune the
wet soft plunk of falling
dreams lands in your lap.

Tomorrow will be infamous.  It
will ride in blistered and red from
too much *******. Sore
on the bottom, full
of whiskey. It's how I
do lonely.

I pick up the wet bar glass,
toss my cigarette as I
fall to earth.  You can always
find me, the drunkard of tears.

The cholera of grief.


Caroline Shank