A bullet in the arm,
A crown on the head,
A halo across a face,
Lose out to booze,
Fuck grimace.
An hour of quirks and mirth,
A dive into intoxication,
And devouring imaginations.
Cries let out,
Lyrics reiterate,
We have our own choir.
The lonesome cigar soon finds a company,
Empty glasses split with joy,
A friend laments, others relate,
Hours become moments,
Past turns into a secret.
We wait,
For changes to change,
The 4 am show ends with a dawn,
Keeping the night,
In a bottle corked.
