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Annesofie Olsen Feb 2015
Jager efter det uopnåelige
Jager efter det perfekte
Jager efter succes
Jager efter ?
jeg ved ikke helt
Michael Parish Sep 2013
The bartender a europa server leaves me a shot of liquid propane.
He moves past every silver dollar forgetting about the meaning
of whskey and bull dogs.
I watch cody a young university of washington student sneek In a  can of raineer beer (if he really  goes there) ill never ask him.
             This is how lastcall always takes place:  a drunken masqerader our friend johnny
Drops his wallet and kills a shot of jager.  ( are we drunk enouph yet)
I order a taco and gain three hundread pounds tonight.
Master of the pitchers.  He still dreams of being a physical thearpist ( he failed trying to take over for Dyrile). His new tall order of a job makes my anticipated buzz weaker.  
Im tired of these long dresses opening up and spilling all over the dance floor ( the dj warned her not to)
Our ladies still mention bach.  Inside of her purse hides a mystery knovel.
Tueday means a victory at home.  Every player utters pride of being a regular.
We sink the black eight ball knowing the bouncer gets in the way of ourdrunk enemies  ( a red head)
He charges like arhino.  Hes a animal without areason to ****.  But the bouncer prevents his six year jail sentence from ever happening.  Bexause were all forgiven like helpless bar rags trying to dry out before the mold and mildew
contaminate our ******* stories.  We all speak easily after the brooklyn dodgers turn every blue and white hat around the five head.

He wont show us how the airforce cut his hair.  Every one of his is angry patrons drink until the switch flickers the message ( crawl home bfore the cops fish with dynamite) in the ruston pqarking lot. (Searching for fake DW'S)  each of themshine a britemaglite until the last car disapears still swerving like a skunk ptetending to hide in the storm gutters.
Yam Kaplan Feb 2014
She is raving and unfaithful,
judged to die of insomnia
but
I love her.

She dances four tangos
with demons in her mind
but the fifth dance is mine tonight.

Instead of singing her love songs
I scream in agony
"Baby, your blood tastes like Tequila",
but she pours me a cold Jager
hissing.

She was never a person of tender touch,
rolled up her sleeves and showed her scars
and bruises
like a warrior.

She is ******* and restless,
a street cat fearing strangers
yet chasing cars
and
I love her.
dan hinton Nov 2011
There are a lot of misconceptions about Uni
Such as we all live lives like the ones off Hollyoaks
And that in order to survive
You need to be three things:
Beautiful
A party-animal
And an iron liver.
Sorry to disappoint you.
Those things are all nice:
Much like a free side with your sub
Or a red-letter day.
They’re nice –
But they’re not necessarily vital.
It’s not vital you fall in love with the first person you meet
It’s not vital you get with someone within Freshers
Like it’s a race and you’re Lyford Christie.
It’s not vital that you down half a bottle of Jager
To prove to your flatmates you’re a god
It’s not necessary.
Some of my best friends
Are quiet
But they are good
And I wouldn’t want them any other way
When we come together we have nothing but fun.
Without alcohol
Without drugs
Without 2am walkins
I know...
What’s this world coming to?
Michael Parish Sep 2013
The bartender a europa server leaves me a shot of liquid propane.
He moves past every silver dollar forgetting about the meaning
of whskey and bull dogs.
I watch cody a young university of washington student sneek In a  can of raineer beer (if he really  goes there) ill never ask him.
             This is how lastcall always takes place:  a drunken masqerader our friend johnny
Drops his wallet and kills a shot of jager.  ( are we drunk enouph yet)
I order a taco and gain three hundread pounds tonight.
Master of the pitchers.  He still dreams of being a physical thearpist ( he failed trying to take over for Dyrile). His new tall order of a job makes my anticipated buzz weaker.  
Im tired of these long dresses opening up and spilling all over the dance floor ( the dj warned her not to)
Our ladies still mention bach.  Inside of her purse hides a mystery knovel.
Tueday means a victory at home.  Every player utters pride of being a regular.
We sink the black eight ball knowing the bouncer gets in the way of ourdrunk enemies  ( a red head)
He charges like arhino.  Hes a animal without areason to ****.  But the bouncer prevents his six year jail sentence from ever happening.  Bexause were all forgiven like helpless bar rags trying to dry out before the mold and mildew
contaminate our ******* stories.  We all speak easily after the brooklyn dodgers turn every blue and white hat around the five head.

He wont show us how the airforce cut his hair.  Every one of his is angry like drini until the switch flicker themessage ( crawl home bforetheco9s fishwith dynamite) in the ruston pqarking lot.
Jae Elle Mar 2012
take a walk in her shoes


impromptu parties
& people you know that
just love you
'cause you're one of the few
that remember how to

a very close game of
beer pong
birthday boy mixing all
the liquor in the
nearly empty bottle of
Jager
but ****, was it
dangerously delicious


you fall in love with anyone
who gives you the
least bit of
attention and you feel
like a siren
trying to draw in
all the men
so very lost at
sea
if only for a friendly
chat

then its closing time
for your schedule
& the next day you enter
into the world of all you call
home sweet home
back at your mother's
all the people you ever loved
minus one
have come to grace you with
a good old-fashioned
get together

the girl who had your back
since grade school
gives you the great gift
of fresh ink on your shoulder
she worried about ******* it up
you worry about how much
that needle's gonna sting
but it doesn't

the men gather upstairs
& we sing classic songs
of drugs
& love and grunge
you almost made the boy
cry with your voice



these days are too few and far
between

come by again sometime
we miss you where you are
& you'll always miss feeling so
alive
Ordomkasteren Jan 2015
Når lygterne er tændt. Når skovstien ligner en scene fra en gyserfilm. Når skummet på bølgerne er selvlysende. Når myggene er usynlige. Når tyvene lister. Når rovdyrene jager. Når ofrene sover. Når ilden knitrer. Når strengende stemmer. Når stemmerne kimer. Når fuglene vågner. Når musene flyver. Når englene synger. Når mælken skummer. Når bladene pusler. Når grenene banker på vinduerne. Når resten af verden sover.
trf May 2018
The unscrupulous cavalry shuffled aboard narrow lanes,
Cutting in line towards Jager Bomb's tether,  
Cluttered duffel bags concealing cheap champagnes,
Passing cruise ship commuter's ruffled feathers.

With their fake, "excuse me's" en route to the bar,
Coercing the conductor who's been under the weather
With smug smiles and counterfeit Cuban cigars.

Leaving the harbor three sheets to the wind
The cowards commandeered Grandparents pool chairs,
A little past midnight with no foresight of end,
An abrupt brawl broke out, fists flying through air.

A sightseeing whale trip turned into a ship from hell,
The assailants now held in a South of Wales cell.
Have you been on a cruise ship in the past decade? *** is wrong with the public? Forget chivalry it's been deceased for years, and courtesy, ha, they can't even spell it. Tighten up muffuckrs, show some gd decency or at least a little human respect, dignity.  I have one simple rule in life, just one _ Don't be an asshole_That's all.  ~Report: "People vacationing on a Carnival cruise ship this week in the South Pacific had their trip turned upside down thanks to a series of violent brawls that seemed to transform the ship from a paradise into a fight club."
Mitchell Jun 2014
'There wasn't a beer in the house. The wind pushed the branches and the leaves of the trees outside like bullies does its prey. There wasn't a single beer in the house while the moon hung in the night sky like a thick toe nail. The stars were splatters of milk on an endless blackened canvas. I looked at my watch. It read 1AM. I had an hour.
My dog Wino laid next to me on her side. She was a miniature french bull dog who took pleasure in sleeping, eating, and occasionally drinking wine mixed with cocoa cola and water. The perfect dog if one had a small attention span and could keep them fed, petted, and fit. The coke and water trick had not come into fruition by my mind, but from my friend, Penny. He drank at a place called The Lounge, a dive of dives meant for locals and young kids with old souls. Luckily we were still young and somehow blessed with the formalities and general manners opposite of a drunken frat boys bent solely on intoxicating themselves on red bull and jager shots mixed with an aperitif of bud light.
The Lounge was four blocks toward downtown from where I lived. It was the kind of place that served microwaved hot dogs until closing if you're wondering what I meant about dive of dives. Penny was there, dead drunk or pain-stakingly sober, depending on how much money he had. I don't know why I thought of him at that moment, most likely trying to figure who else to drink with other than myself, but right when I thought of him, I knew it was already a lost cause. It was 1:05. The hour was too late to reconvene with anyone. I knew I'd have to go alone.
*******, there's got to be something, I thought, this God forsaken house is empty? A beer? A shot? Anything? Nothing! How can it be? My good for nothing roommates must have drank it all...or maybe it was me? Maybe I'm to blame? No...that couldn't be right. I would have remembered? But why so sure? I could have easily forgot from all the beer I was drinking before...people make mistakes...happens all the time. Jesus, I told myself, get yourself together and start thinking straight.
I felt like a handicapped, bloodthirsty hyena. Pensive, I looked down at Wino. She was dead asleep with her tongue oozing out between her lips. The stench of wine coke hung around her. She would be no help at all.
I got up from the kitchen table and looked in the refrigerator. Hungry gripped me as well. Getting attacked on the front of drink and food was not an enjoyable place to be. Moves would have to be made...but where? When? Well, before 2AM of course and where, well, that would take some thought. As I scrounged around in the deep crevices of the refrigerator, pushing aside moldy mashed potatoes and old plastic tins of Chinese food, furry oranges and near empty bottle of ketchup, dark soups with mysterious things swimming around inside and a very large bowl of what looked to be sugar, but was actually Arm and Hammer. We would eventually get a dating and signature system to avoid all of these unwanted science experiments, but that's another story.
There was nothing of nourishment in the fridge so I closed it, discouraged, weighing my options. There was a liquor store on Geary, the main drag in the inner richmond, my neighborhood. But it was a Wednesday and they were most likely closed. Why would they stay open late on a weekday? For people like me? Not a chance. I stepped into the laundry room and looked out the window. The sky was clear and the moonlight and the stars were white florescent shining down on the tops of the leaves hanging from the branches of the trees like a prisoner dead on the gallows. The roofs of the apartments across my ours were painted with this same cream white. I could smell the salt of the ocean from sporadic gusts of a sharp wind. In the distance, an ocean tanker heading into the city or out to sea blared their fog horn. It sounded like a whale in heat. There was a party going on in an apartment across the way. I saw people with glasses in their hands and listened to their chatter and their laughter. I knew they would have *****. I also wondered who throws a party on a wednesday night in the middle of June in San Francisco's winter of all the times. The fog had been rolling in hard the last few days and that night was no different. I was in a thick sweater, pants, and knee high socks and my teeth were still chattering. No use staring over plaintively at their apartment, I thought, I probably look like some kind of shadowy, drunk apparition. Better go inside before they call the cops on me...
Inside, I ran the faucet with hot water into a bowl. When it was almost full, I stopped the water and submerged my hands. That sting that happens when extreme cold goes to extreme hot began. My entire body started to tingle, go numb, especially my hands. The reason for this action I never fully understood for I really wasn't that cold, but the image of a hot water filling a bowl just popped into my head and I gave it no thought, only action. If anyone had walked in at that moment, I'm sure they would have thought me drunk and craze and, well, maybe I was? I was no longer sure. The only thing I did know that needed to happen was to get down the stairs, out the door, down the street, and to the 8th and Geary where my liquor store hopefully, was open.
My phone read 1:21 PM. I'd be cutting it close. Luckily, I had cash, so they wouldn't have to be bothered with a debit card transaction. I recalled trying to use a debit card there once and they were convinced it was OK to charge me $5 for a purchase under $10. Most places would charge you 50 cents, a dollar at most, but these hustling swindlers were trying to push $5! I wouldn't have it. I walked outta' there quick and knew the next time I ever was forced (I usually bought alcohol at grocery stores where their inconvenience offered more deals) to step foot into a liquor specific store, I would have cash in hand, poised in the ready position.
There was a problem with my departure though: I couldn't find my shoes. I thought back to when I got home from work, beers in my backpack as well as a pint of whiskey in the secret zipper department. My shoes were on at that point, I was sure of it. When I had arrived say around 3:30 - 4 o'clock in the afternoon, no one was home. They were still all at work and in no way taken my shoes by accident. This had never happened, so I was curious why I thought that that specific day, when I would later need my shoes so desperately, somebody would have mistakingly took them to thwart whatever plans I may or may not make to go out. In truth, I couldn't see any of my roommates devising such a plan, at least on a week day, even more so a wednesday. But where were they? Had they slipped under the couch? I checked, but was only to discover a few quarters, which I pocketed for pool and juke box use in the future, various types of potato and tortilla chips, a hat, *****, lint covered socks, and a remote control to the TV which I had been searching since the week I had moved in a year ago. No shoes though. Where could they be?
I lightly ran downstairs to check the shoe rack that no one ever used. The middle of our door is a rectangular piece of glass, so one could see right through and down to the street. The stale light of of a single street lamp beamed an orange streak across the pavement. Besides that, the block was black. There was a car parked in the space in front of our steps. No one was inside, at least it didn't look like there was. It was very dark. I could have been mistaken. The car sat underneath a large tree with heavy, thick branches that blocked any light that may have been coming from the lamp or the stars, so very possibly there could have been a mysterious person, thing, entity, what have you in vicious wait. But, I asked myself, waiting for what? For me? Why for me?. All I'm looking for is a six pack and another flask. What would this thing in that car even want with me except twelve bucks? I stared out the window, thinking these things until I remembered why the hell I was there in the first place. The shoe rack was filled with old bills, coupon brochures, voting ballots, and neon pink Chinese menus. I rummaged around this heap, with no sign of my shoes. Well, I thought, there's only one more place these ******'s could be.
My desk, which holds most of my books, looks out onto the street. It holds stacks of papers in deep drawers that should be thrown away but are kept due to the fear of tossing something potentially important, condoms, pens, checkbooks, candies, film canisters, notes from friends, headphones, cards, hair gels and deodorants, and really anything I don't want on my desk. Occasionally, there will be a left over dinner or breakfast plates lingering around the edge of the desk, flirting with its own demise and even more so if I have left the window open, which is  half a foot away. If not plates then bills that have yet to be paid or notes on old papers, probably old bills, that I never got around to flushing out or did and just never got rid of. A large oak desk, it sits and feels a little small for my size, but, I make it work, for it was a gift. I try to use whatever I receive for free to the utmost until the discomfort is either too much or I come across something better that I can afford, which is rare. But, there they were, pushed up against the wall that faced the street. My chair was jammed all the way up into the desk as well , so much so that it was tipped slightly upward, like someone had been trying to throw the thing out the window. I didn't remember doing this at all which made me think perhaps it wasn't me, maybe someone else had been in here...but who? Why would anyone trespass on such a simple, lowly place with no real worth or chance of treasure? It just couldn't be, so I threw the thought into the wind and got my shoes on. I checked my phone again. It read 1:37. That gave me 23 minutes.
I stumbled down the stairs, out the door, and down the stairs. A car drove by me as I walked down the street toward Geary. Their headlights were off. I turned to see the driver of the car as they passed me, but they were mere shadow, their faces black, blurry smudges. I paused and turned around back toward my apartment. Something in me told me the car would stop at my house, but it continued on to the stop light, then up the hill toward the park. Where we they going?
At Geary, I took a left and walked quickly toward 8th avenue. There were no cars on the main drag. Both sides of the streets were completely empty. A large gust of wind from the west forced me to pause, almost making me take a step back. I looked up into the sky. It was thick with a rolling grey fog. At night, the fog always rolled in the hardest. I never knew why. It just did. And there were no stars. Everything was black and grey, but when I pushed forward through the wind, I saw the neon yellow and red shell station ahead as well as the flashing stop lights which hung over the streets. As I came to 8th avenue, I saw the liquor store. It was closed. The only light that shone was a rotating blinking light in the shape of a beer bottle. I wanted that beer bottle, even if it wasn't real.
The store windows were grated and there was a large metal gate before the actual door to the store. This told me they had had trouble before, probably from guys like me. Inside there was everything I would need to get me through the night and to the morning. Out there, on the cold sidewalk with a violent fog swirling around me like a hurricane, I was just cold and dangerously sober. Reality rapped on my temples like a ravens beak on a thin window. There was nothing I could do. I was forced to go home, empty handed.
As I brushed my teeth in nothing but my underwear, I wandered to the back deck and opened the window. The fog was still rolling heavy and would continue to do so until the sun came to burn it all away. Sometimes, the fog was too much and it would hang there all day like a heavy shawl. Those days were nice. They didn't make me feel guilty about staying inside all day reading or sleeping or really doing nothing at all. Sometimes that is necessary. I spit my toothbrush saliva mixture into a dead plant that rested on the banister near the ladder that lead to the roof. I hadn't ever been up there. Terrified of heights, I figured I never would be.
My clock read 2:13. It had taken me a long time to walk home after such a defeat. I had spent so much time thinking about moving I had failed my overall goal. Too much discussion with oneself can make you go crazy. I've seen it happen to friends, family, ****...myself. I closed my eyes and told myself there is plenty of value in talk, in discussion, but it takes a true human being to act after all of that talk. I would have to remember that one. Yes, I would have to write that one down.
sabinasophie Feb 2015
jeg finder min trøst i sort poesi, du ikke forstår
mit porcelænshjerte er vandaliseret og
mine ribben skriger
du bydder mig din eskapisme
og jeg bydder mig selv metalsølv smerte
vi er kun børn, men jeg er vokset op i takt med en ballerina på det kongelige teater
derfor forstår du ikke hvad jeg forstår
og du ser ikke hvad jeg ser
små hvide linjer danser så fint omkring på min krop og blodige minder jager min hukommelse og jeg fortæller ikke mere
min rygsøjle er i kontant smerte, grundet alle de upubliceret hemmeligheder den hver dag bærer på
i et sort hul med duft af sprit befinder jeg mig, tynget og jeg kan ikke finde vej
et elektrisk sind - sabina sandager
E Jan 2015
do you still think it was real what we felt
or are you embarrassed by its very occurance?
do you accept it as victory or defeat?
did you kiss anybody on new years eve?
you must type my number into your phone
wanting to hit call but then you don't
or are there pages of words written for me
that break you a little to know i'll never read?
if you can't sleep at night what the **** do you do?
do you wonder if we both have an intamacy issue?
was it depression or was it just me?
drawing lines and measuring distances so we couldn't be real
if i told you right now that i am sorry
i don't know if you'd respond 'me too' or 'don't bother'
i used to know you inside out
now i have no new memories to store in my head
it's funny how i worried about breaking your heart
and completely forgot that i had my own to tear apart
still no amount of jager makes me tell you i miss you
so either i don't or i'm still the coward you fell in love with
#thisisawfulgotosleep
Ashley Rodden Jan 2015
Show me what I'm worth
When you're facedown, thinking
You're so ******* when you're running your mouth
Got a few things bottled up
Jump on a couple bottles like double dutch
Jager's got your faded when society has me jaded
How do you expect for us to grow
When all you want to do is break
It's time to let **** go
Don't be tough
Just make sure I see you cry enough
Don't bottle this up
The way I make you feel when I'm around
You got to wake up this is the real world
And you're only hurting yourself
When you spend every waking moment
With your fingers crossed
I don't think you can afford to set karma further in motion
Go ahead
Talk **** it means nothing
Ask me what I see in you
I see nothing, I see right through
You're transparent, I know you don't want to hear it
And I don't want to be the one to hurt your feelings
But, I'm not afraid to freak out
Because deep down it ***** to be you
Making small stabs in passing
But the pain is bigger than it seems so,
Stop holding me under and just breathe
Shaxy Jul 2017
Let me take you back
to the time we both first met,
Still fresh in my mind

Carefully planned out
My birthday celebration;
A lovely surprise

Taken to Wine U,
The Big Bosses' "Paradise";
That's where I found you

Little did I know
The place housed my Ma'am's secret;
Ulterior motive

Arrived at seven,
Hand-kissed by a neat waiter;
Not my cup of tea

Settled on Merlot
A Cabernet Sauvignon;
Heaven in a glass

Air filled with laughter,
Music and the smell of beer,
I still felt empty

Tipsy on red wine
Whispered the waiter, "Let's smoke!"
Sighing, I followed

That's when I saw You
The one engrossed in his phone,
I wondered, "Who's that?"

"Oh, this is our Chef!"
Introduced the waiter, who
Spoke highly of You

Small, little, quick chat
What You do, and where You're at
I ditched the waiter

The following week
I returned; for wine and You,
Excitement ruled me

This time, Jager bomb
was my partner for the night;
My sanctuary

Clock struck Eleven,
The corner of my eye caught
a familiar form

Too much sexiness
in a man dressed so simple,
You must be a dream

My heart pulsated,
butterflies in my stomach,
No words came to me

A polite offer
made by my Ma'am - "Join us, Dean!"
That wasn't my plan

You stood next to me
My heart was pounding madly
"Just one drink", You said

"Why don't You sit down?"
I eyed the stool beside me
"Nah, I love to stand."

Another round came
Still, You didn't budge from your spot
I knew You're staying

We chat, joked and laughed
Amidst others' loud chatters;
I was Your focus

Minutes went by, and
alas, we found comfort in
each other's presence

My mind went astray
in between sips and Your stare;
Pictured us kissing

What a great vision;
If it was only US there,
I'd have made my move

Clock struck Four-Thirty
I didn't want the night to end;
Yellow cab waiting

With a heavy heart,
I left the wonderful place;
I'll see you again
Dedicated to my fiance, Dean.
Been wanting to write this since weeks ago, but didn't have the time.

This was written based on my personal experience, yes based on True Events (pun not intended).
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
It was another boring school day
and school is out
nope, no school for me
not today at least
I've got places to be
and man to see
about a horse

I sneak out at lunch time
the teachers here are dumb
I went to the woods
behind the chain link fence
of the Athletic/Health club
personal betterment
what a joke?
nothing but a bunch of sheep
trying to fatten themselves up
so they can be slaughtered first
Well not me
They won't catch me

The bottle is right where I left it
untouched under the leaves
each gulp of that *****
is chased with another
even longer one
The world looks a whole lot more rosy
when I'm looking over a bottle
and the sun looks so **** cool
as it comes through the leaves
green and warm
like a bottle of Jager
Life is good
real good
Never been one of the elite,
never been in a clique,
often direct
although sometimes oblique
I have
never been one of the elite.

So
when one of those factions
decide to take action
against
the privileged,
they can
drop me from the equation.

Sunday night?
that's right,
it's back to the mill
come the 'morrow
..meister.
Nicole Holland Nov 2014
I don't know what it was, but that night I fell in love with her. I didn't prepare for this. The way she danced under the cheap Christmas lights holding her cup. The way she said my name in my ear. The way I could taste Jager on her lips. The way she laid in my bed. I don't know what it was, but that night I fell in love with her.
Nicole Holland Sep 2015
Maybe my dad killed himself. Maybe I couldn't tell anyone else exactly how. Maybe I called her. Maybe it had been a few months. Maybe I just wanted to talk. Maybe it was 3 am. Maybe I needed her. Maybe I wanted it to be like old times. Maybe I wanted to wish on a shooting star again. maybe I wanted to fix things. Maybe I picked her up. Maybe I wasn't just me in the car. Maybe it was past her curfew.

It's possible a few drinks were involved. It's possible there was more than a few. It's possible when I kissed her I tasted the Jager like it was my own drink. It's possible those white shorts and crop top made me want her more. It's possible I got her alone. It's possible I told her that I still cared. It's possible that I never said it before. It's possible she cried. It's possible I was too drunk to notice. It's possible that someone else did. It's possible I got jealous. It's possible she just wanted to be held. It's possible he was gentle and did.

Perhaps he offered her a ride home. Perhaps she stayed with me. Perhaps she still loved me. Perhaps I yelled about the boy who cared for her. Perhaps she cried again. Perhaps she went home upset. Perhaps he comforted her again. Perhaps he took her to see fireworks. Perhaps he didn't know she hated them. Perhaps I didn't know she would like them. Perhaps she got closer to him. Perhaps they laughed together. Perhaps they spent all night talking about the dreams and goals I already knew. Perhaps she told him to come back the next day.

It's likely she forgot about me. It's likely she found happiness. It's likely he loved her back. It's likely they went places. It's likely he got her cute gifts. It's likely I liked their pictures on Instagram. It's likely I looked at our pictures. It's likely my sweatshirt is tucked away so he cannot see it. It's likely I was lonely. It's likely that I still want her.

Or do I? Maybe on those lonely nights, when I was feeling down, when drinks blurred everything right, perhaps anything could happen.

But then again, maybe possible, perhaps likely, that I never did need her.
Duane Emanuel Dec 2016
I sit at the bar just dreaming about you
The immense feelings I have are all true
The henny runs through me vein by vein
The sight of you drives me insane
This love for you burns so deep
As I take another shot because it’s so hard to sleep
I stare at the jager as I am its next prey
Because your love is so hard to bare it leaves me in dismay
This liquor has got me in deep there is no turning back
The next shot comes near me ready to attack
Her love is what I  need I can’t go anymore
What more can I do what left is in store
Just thinking about the chances I leave on the table
The opportunity to ask you out but sadly I am not able
This liquor has hit my brain and I’m down for the count
I want to confess my love for you an obstacle I cannot surmount
I leave the bar and look up and here it rains
As my love burns more with liquor in my veins

— The End —