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Sunday, 31 October 2010

Another Unmade Bed

He sits up from the unmade bed
Feels the chill of the night air
The sting of whisky in his head
The ten dollar whore no longer there

Lives his life, selling from his car
Staying in one cheap motel each time
He used to think he would go far
But this job stripped him of his prime

He used to have a wife, so long ago
But he walked out on her, and his son
Thought he would be rich, he never wanted to know
Now he has only regrets for all he has done

No one has any money to buy anymore
The prices keep on getting higher
He coughs, then he spits on the floor
He wishes he could find just one buyer

As he pisses the whiskey inside of him
The dirty mirror reflects his sorry state
Wishes that he never took this job on the whim
But he can't go back, it is far too late

Packs the suitcase and it is time to go
Finding another poor town to drive to
Business might pick up, it's been too slow
If no one buys, he will drive on through

Until he stops for more cheap whiskey to drink
Until he picks up another ten dollar whore
Deeper into this life he will continue to sink
Hoping to still find the final big score






copyright Chris Smith 2009

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