In front of me I see a table
A table full of vices
A table which remembers the nights before
Covered in evidence of vices
Coca cola and Pepsi labels stare each other down
A beer cap and cigarette ash and packs crumpled down
An empty water bottle
A cellphone and a lighter
Littered with change is the table
Covered in nickels and quarters
George Washington's looking forward onto Golden Arches
Around the table the chairs are still pushed out from the people who brought him them
Left now but ghosts haunt the places they have emptied
They beg for anyone to notice the hell they are in
They scream look at what I have left you as a message
Look at my vices!
The sections are mapped out on the top of this table
Each vice has a person and each one a label
And the labels they leave are the proof there's a problem
They turn to these vices and hope they will solve them