One Last Tasty Morsel

All the alcoholics wore t-shirts

The kind that displayed their work

All the trouble that we went through

The kind that dug the hurt

We found smiles in the sorrow

To overcome the past

Stretch wool across skin

To irritate the rash

Lay you on a bed of vomit I urge you to strike a pose

Press my lips upon it strategically tear your clothes

We static cling to everything I'll bite you on the cheek

Slit your neck with diamond rings I'll starve you for a week

Pressure cooker tiny tongues

Sniveling sour puss

Grandma's got that broken back cry and still you stomp your feet

Seven days and seven nights toying with defeat

I've felt the rush of things to come I've made my nickels shine

Your trust is a bloated corpse I've come to claim what I know is mine