Ian, can I have a drink
So I can choose not to think?
I don't care if it's wine, whiskey, or beer,
I'm not promoting a positive message here.
To this darkness I preen and attest
That to die is to die is to die suits me best.
I'll ignore the bells ringing in my head
And memories of nights I was nearly dead.
Rely on what my liquored brain reports,
Drink cheaply until what is clear distorts.
You see, I'm too broke for my favorite bar,
But it's just as well, I couldn't make it that far.
It all comes out as either doom or rhyme,
So pass me the bottle, Ian, there's not much time.
Sometimes it takes just a touch,
A blasphemous hunger, a destructive crutch.
You went from blues clubs to life on the road,
I ended up in the gutter; we both went alone.
You left both friends and lovers far behind,
I left it all when the vodka made me blind.
But it little profits an idle drunk
To look into the bottles where his fortune sunk
And, wet for wear, he cry a river of tears
That wash across his wasted years.
My god, Ian, this is such stupid stuff,
I've chased this voice for long enough.
It seems there's little left to do
Except drink and drink until it's through.
I remember when I was young
This poison was bitter on my tongue.
It ate at my throat, robbed color from my skin,
I had little idea who I was or where I'd been.
We went too far and spun out of control.
We were under assault, all too rarely whole.
We blamed it on the women, but that was no good.
We blamed it on friends who did all they could.
We blamed it on the police and found reason there,
And talked about it when we were too drunk to care.
We looked to ourselves and saw what we could not stand,
So let's forgive and forget, let's get a bottle in our hand.
But even if it’s the strongest stuff
It'll never be strong enough.
Ian, can I have a drink?
I've left my liver in your bathroom sink.
My body's aching, I can't get out of bed.
I'm half mad with sickness and unmentionable dread.
What was once strong and steady now won't stay still,
Just one more drink though and I'll have had my fill.
I don't have the time or patience to talk of last night
Because I don't remember things right.
And at ten in the morning, you'll know where to find me.
I'll be looking for something to beat and blind me.
But if that bottle should go empty, my drunken brother,
Don't worry - where one bottle came from, there's always another.