the story that removed your clothes
was mostly made of practiced lies
i'm left now drinking with thoughts of you
beside me, with all my thoughts behind me

is it the story of you in a dimly lighted bathroom
that keeps me returning to this irish bar
gas chamber in my mouth from my third cigar
i barely can stand up when the sweating musicians stop

i watch outside a rotting club your last words drown
in the watering eyes of the bum who might be blind
get bumped by an irish excon lookalike, i only hope
the romance of the night owl bus will again drown my 2:22 AM loneliness