One Match Left By Lee Cassanell

What now for the boozers The last of the users The bastards The blaggards The boy's Their ships rest at Anchor No more do they hanker For rides on the river of noise Their diamonds are jaded Their embers have faded The glint in their eye seldom seen One day at the alter Their wine turned to water And drowned out their voices and dreams. What next for the players The After hours stayers The Ligers The lovers The lad's They're high on the coaster With a mortgage and toaster In a car full of loan sharks in drag

Their morals have shifted They've scrapped and they've sifted Through puddles of bullshit and blame Used up all their matches In bar rooms and taxis And swaying home drunk in the rain What's left of the clubbers The spaced and the scrubbers The Goodies The Goblins The Gents They're all eating carrots And clinging like parrots To perches of yesterdays friends Now the whisky is rotten All sins are forgotten And the future is yoga and tea Leave the Nicotine yellow To some other brave fellow Who would dare wear the same clothes as me.

Copyright ©2005  Lee Cassanell

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