Sheltered by the storm,
sheltered indoors,
and forlorn,
and worn out and weary at the breaking of the dawn,
with my head a mess,
as I arise from my drunken sleep,
and I climb out of bed
and I view the bottles of alcohol on the floor,
but after last night I do not need anymore,
and as I get up my head it pounds,
and a headache it is trying to beat me into submission,
as I try to stumble for the bathroom door,
and my vision, it is still blurry,
and what happened last night,
I am not quite sure,
but I trip over bottles of alcohol,
no, no more,
no, more I say to myself as I head for the bathroom,
and I pass out on the bathroom floor,
and I sleep, and I begin to dream of sobriety,
sobriety, probably dreaming of the hair of the dog,
probably, because my girlfriend left me,
and it will probably be the same as yesterday,
misery and alcohol,
and a drunken funk, as I am no longer a monk anymore,
no longer a monk anymore.
