Another pull of my beer,
another drag on my cigarette.

These are the things
most-worth thinking:

(so this is consumption,
inability to function)

long forgotten is my Alice,
is Laudie, even my Lynette.

There are numerous new reasons
for why I keep drinking.

(Who would ever make that presumption?
Could you prescribe such assumptions?)

Fall deeper and deeper,
like a boat on fire and sinking.

Combustible effervescence;
so easy to keep smoking.

So easy to keep burning yourself,
so easy to keep choking,
  yet hard to forget the thoughts
     that we've all been thinking.

(My money rapidly dying of consumption.
My thoughts now free from corruption.)

Welcome to my home, oh won't you come in?
Allow me to show you around, would you care for a drink?
Tell me your poison, maybe a highball of gin?
I keep it in the kitchen with the coffeepot by the sink,

or maybe you'd prefer a tumbler of crown?
Whiskey is right in the foyer by the doorstop,
there's nothing like a nip right before I bounce.
And if it's wine you crave, it's in the living room atop

the tube television beside the VCR in it's place.
But if you've a tongue for peach schnapps
then make your way to the crawl space.

Whilst your up there I say, would you do me a fave?
Look in the attic for the bourbon, it's beside my baby pictures,
and bring it down for me. I'm sure that I saved
some from the last time I was up there alone with self-stricture.

Oh you don't care for bourbon, then maybe some brandy?
The cognac is somewhere down the basement,
but ignore the rope and the candies.

You're unsettled you say? Then ***'s how to spend
drinking the night away with me in the den.
OH! Just send a beer your way?! you should've just said!
A six-pack's in the bathroom, right next to the head.