Pop open the cap and slurp on the suds.
He's only got rhythm when he feels the buzz.
Is it about medicating or running from guilt?
I'm advocating he's hiding in filth.
"Let me get dirty and the eye's will not see
All of these past actions relating to me."
He carries regret in an old tattered sack.
Walks down the road always looking back.
With a bottle in hand and a numbness that cures
Life becomes bland if he does not blur.
He wants to forget with the wheat and barley.
Just let him get wrecked so he can feel sorry.
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