I have a one track mind
and its in the gutter
With whiskey breath
and a bit of a stutter
I type at a desk
where the beer bottles clutter
the scattered ashes
spins and dashes
in the winds of the summer
Theres a stain on my bed spread
from the girl last week
I should probably wash it
its where I rest my cheek
I dont own much
but amps and guitars
with a whole lot of memories, debris, and scars
and wouldn't trade one bit
to become who you are.