I hear the distant rumbling of cars
Reminiscent of conversations
I have engaged in while drunk
That just tumble on incoherently;
When I have had too much
My words begin to circle like vultures
Around the carcass of my life
I am honest without shame
My darkest thoughts are exposed
Like rapist clergymen.
I should have been a funeral home
Filled with mourning relatives
Who are really there for the will
Faking sorrow through the wake
Hoping, praying they will get the payout.
You won’t get shit when I die,
Fuckers.
