Footprints on the boulevard lost in rain — I
Walk the path that I see fit, the path that I create,
Even if it zigs and zags.

All day after church, I hit the bars, several.
Several new faces. Several forgettable stories. Several.
And each one that goes by, the drinks go down easier.

The sun sets unceremoniously for
The patrons of these wood-paneled walls.
Cigarette smoke from ’93 still stuck in the carpet.

But this is not a time for ceremonies,
Or a time to redecorate. When the drinks flow cold
Any time you want em, those things can wait for a time when you don’t.

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