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Tortured Soul

On the crest of a wave or crest of a slump;

It don’t matter anyway, its time to get drunk.

When she’s here I don’t want her, gone, leaves a hole;

No rest in this body for this tortured soul.


Last night was electric – who turned the lights off;

Hide away this morning, my life’s in a trough.

Just one more bottle ought to do the trick;

Take away my pain and put way the stick.


Tomorrow seems distant, just drink away the past;

Facing yesterday’s oblivion staring in the glass.

Who’s gonna hear me and who’s gonna care;

Looking in the mirror at my ghost standing there.


Death’s a better option than living with this fear;

Shaking every morning, because of yester-year.

The invisible lady got a price I cannot pay;

Cursing my misfortune in the bar room every day.


The predator in the bottle is my fatal concoction;

Once the cork is popped, there is no other option.

Eases into my bloodstream, numbs hurts and old pains;

Clouding my mind and my unrelenting, tortured brain.


So there stands the glass with my obituary in draft;

It’s years since I remember a genuine laugh.

God if you’re out there, get me out of this hole;

Intervene in the destruction of this tortured soul. 

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