The Captain and Jack are gone

Cheaper, rougher whores are what it takes

The mixer shrinks and the ice it melts

The fog no longer dims the lights

 

The empty bottles of my dynasty,

Recycled like my stories of glory days

The bitter taste of regret

Diluted with bourbon or rum till I forget

 

My hand it shakes, my gait unsteady

No longer call it pain, useless cliché

Existence once called life

Time and tide fading away

 

Another day, and breath I steal

Each one I take I cannot return

No redemption for wages earned

Sleep no friend or welcome rest

 

 

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