When drugs and the drink bring dreams of the brink

Then somehow another day older,

The lush with the rush breaks free of the crush

With the hot breath of death at his shoulder.

Now cleaner and clearer, an earnest God-fearer

He no longer flees the reaper.

A life on his knees throwing prayers to the breeze,

Still crazy, but just so much cheaper.

With needle and glass the grails of the past

He steeples his fingers in glory,

His mind is still shot, but what's left is not

Too meagre to swallow the story.

So dressed in a sack, head bare at the back

He throws up his hands to the sky.

Then implores his saviour to forgive his behaviour

And tell him the reason why.

But the wait for the answer is too long for the chancer,

Whose mouth is as dry as a bone.

In exasperation, he rejects mute salvation

In favour of spirits of his own.

Now free from the pain of the need to explain,

His position in life's grand scheme of things.

He kicks off his shoes and lines up the booze

To wait 'til the fat lady sings.