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I wake up in the mourn, and promptly dart to liquor,
on an empty stomach, it really hits you quicker
a morning sickness, with the kicks
I’m plagued each day by infernal ticks
I’m burnt-out before noon,
every hour, I get my fix
my only light, dimmed to flicker
leads my way down the river Styx

Yesterday was the same, and each one to follow
fills me with new hatred, if it doesn’t make me hollow
trogs complain all day,
each night, they cry and pray
but I’ll just grab a drink,
or smoke my pains away
it’s really tough to swallow,
I swear, my ears betray

I finally feel alright, when I stand, but stumble,
when my words are slurred, but at least I nixed the mumble
pathetic – it’s so sad,
but at least it makes me glad,
to stoop down to their level,
moronic – a bit mad
watching my life crumble,
mourning what I had.

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