He spent his life propping up the bar.
Stepped outside and got in the car.
He tore away from the forecourt.
The drunken driver, ripped the street to bits.
Flashing and dashing and buzzing like hell.
Thought he was driving really well.
His memory is cursed to burn.
He hit a tree on the side street.
Hell is waiting for him.
It's arms are open wide.
In the room in ITU.
The beeping machine hit a monotone streak.
Beyond reprieve.
Had no family to cry for him.
No friends to sigh under their breath, nobody's sorry.
His only friend fell out of a bottle or pump.
His eyes both black as midnight.
The front of his head christened.
Only with one god almighty bump.
(C) Livvi