Ok, let’s cut the crap!
No barman ever slung a drink down the bar at me,
No femme fatale ever struck a match off her shoe-
This is as glamorous as it gets.
Life never turned out how we expected it to
So we don’t expect anything more.
We pursue our dreams in our heads
Imagining what was while living the reality.
Filming scenes with our minds
Fading in and out
Tracking thoughts through jump cuts
Trying to reassemble the life we drink to forget
Until we no longer know who we are.
With no sense of self,
Fighting our reflections.
We’re our own worst enemy,
Fools to ourselves
Though wise enough to know it.
We flirt with life
But keep coming back to ourselves.
Our sanguinity dishevelled by cynicism,
Optimistic about how bad our luck is.
We’re such sensitive souls,
Over-emotionally stoic,
Ardently subdued,
Like cats curled up to the bar
Resting our eyes on our elbows,
Banging on about the barmaid everyone’s banging;
Mad Martha with her cigarette dribbling down her lips,
Her tanned fingers against her enervated flesh
As she goes out for a breather,
And we haul our abdomens after her
Like dead weight,
Hoping to get into her-
Our visceral conscience
Slumped at the end of our wits.
If you could hear me speak I’d sound like Clint Eastwood,
Talking through my teeth,
Sick of this half-arsed approach to life.
Not living life to the full
Like those who’re full of shit,
Eating in posh restaurants
Ordering bites by the plateful,
Trying to discover the sense of taste they’ve lost
While searching for something that’s right under their nose,
Fulfilling their emptiness with themselves-
Not starving,
Only hungry for something better.
Not realising that everything tastes better when you’re hungry.
With us there’s no pretension,
No falsehood,
Booze brings out the best in us,
It cuts the crap,
What you hear is what you get.
We like to get to point and be blunt about it,
Too eager to judge others for our own faults,
Having succumbed to a life behind bars,
Feeling smug about our damnation,
Begrudging the lives we wouldn’t have any other way.