12 April 2012
Called in sick this morning my lips and teeth were red
The sun blistered through the window, the world was far to glad
My wall was stained with claret, I rubbed knuckles that had bled
It won't be long 'til I can swallow you and relieve this aching sad
I hit the South-West iron horse running rapid to the coast
The midday's gleam shone through the glass, on Bukowski's leering words
I swig amber from the leather finally feeling more than ghost
This poison that I love so much through better and through worse
Amber • Opuss № I