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Spirits in a Bottle

Alcohol makes fools of us all

But somehow I’m a fool without it.

It’s as normal as can be,

And a damned ridiculous thing.

How sick does one have to be

To take medicine so deadly?

Medicine unneeded and poor

Always leaves you wanting more.

It makes a slow death for sure.

The same mistake day after day

It’s like we crave our own decay

Or we like how it feels, anyway.

The fall of our kind lies bare

Naked at the bottom of the glass

Like Icarus at the bottom of the sea.

As we fell, we thought we were flying.

Alone or in our huddled masses

This is how the dead comfort the dying.

How helpless we are, how powerless

To drown the sorrows of another day

They slip away like fish from our fists

They point and laugh as they pass us by

We always take the bait, and get caught

On the hook, on the line, on the take.

We pay the price we are asked to pay

For a sip, to take the edge off, blissful

Like babies licking honey from a razor blade.

We dance with the spirits in the bottle

So this night might never fade to day.

Let the genie out, and let us wish away.

Passion of the Pessimist

Me, Myself, and I

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