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Saturday, 27 August 2011

You don't know what drinking is...

Los No Amados opened the next day
After they swept the broken glass and blood away
If you drink there on your own you'll hear them say
That they still keep the killer's piece behind the bar

There's an old man sitting quiet in the corner
They say's the guy who lost his only daughter
On the day of the No Amados slaughter
They say her lover put a bullet straight through her heart

The old man in the corner lifts his glass
And pours another beer past his moustache
The waitress does;t wait for him to ask
To bring another

When your heart sits in your belly with the weight
Of all your fear, your sadness and your hate
When everything you've loved is laid to waste
Comfort's discomfort

You don't know what drinking is
'less you've sat down with a drink
In a quiet bar to think about what you've lost
You don't know what drinking is
'less you've sat down with a drink
Knowing it's the only thing you've got

They say God works in mysterious ways
I'll never know why He let me get away
But for my sins I'll carry 'round this pain
For all my days in my heart

I don't know who God is keeping quiet
Or if I scared 'em hard enough to keep them silent
Or if the people there were too drunk when I fired
But they still keep my piece behind the bar

Wednesday, 10 August 2011

Bar 170

She's unholy
I've never seen a smile spread so fast
Drinking slowly
I crush another pill into my glass

The bar is filling with the night and the windows are smoke-stained
The cigarette machine spills light on the concrete floor
The waitress comes around and she changes the ashtray
Asks me if I want another of what I can't afford

Dancing slowly
She holds the darkness like a midnight mass
Shy and lonely
I crush another pill into my glass

My head is swimming in wine and my fingers are smoke-stained
Her serpent body writhes as she continues to dance
Everything  is spinning 'round in circles
I steady myself again on the edge of my glass

Fucking slowly
But feels as good as fucking fast
Drenched in groaning
The shy and lonely moment's passed

Sheets are damped with sweat and the windows are smoke-stained
This room don't seem as cool with my wrists untied
I rest my spinning head on her sweat-stained pillow
As the morning light shines through the Hockney-print blinds

She's unholy
Lucky for me I've given up God.