The Case Of The Drunkard

         THE CASE OF THE DRUNKARD

Half eleven in the morning he enters
Red-faced with a tingling in his dentures
Takes a seat centre-stage at the bar
‘Where the hell is the barmaid? She can’t be far.’

Hands shaking from a few hours Detox
‘Cos he got home last night and threw up in his Reeboks
Ah, here comes the barmaid - it’s the one with the chest!
To pour him a drink - the first one’s always the best.

So this is his story - he’s so happy to tell
Anyone that will listen of his personal hell
His addiction has cost him his daughter and wife
Because last month they left him and walked out of his life.

His money is fading, how long will it last?
He’s been living in squalor for three weeks past
And still he knocks back the cure for his fears
In the shape of distilled spirits and beers.

Oh no, he’s spilled it, killed it, he can’t re-build it!
So out comes another three coins, he’s re-filled it.
And as time progresses the conversation gets worse
He can’t string together sentences or pronounce simple words.

Now usually he is not prone to swear
But you should hear him tonight, he just doesn’t care!
Now he’s on auto-pilot, his brain is dead on it’s feet
And no one told his lips and his tongue about being discreet.

And he’s now got involved in a terrible fight
And got his ass thoroughly kicked for the third time tonight
Now you may laugh at this guy addicted like crystal-meth
But he’s just another tragic case that drank himself to death.