The Drill

In my last band, we tried so hard to turn this into a song. Obviously not all of it, just bits. Long long story but it never worked. The chorus (not featured here) was killer though. You would love it. Maybe next time.

He’s not dead

And she, I think’s

Still breathing

 

I am bored

And buddy’s

On the ceiling.

 

It is four in the afternoon

The alcohol

That we have left

Is warm

And flat

And bitter

Tasting

I have no more cigarettes

And so I’ve started pacing.

 

Flies ease in

And pick at last night’s

Last meal

Last time

I come here, I think.

 

I am turning grey

And buddy’s puking

In the kitchen sink.

 

He’s awake

Quite soon he’ll

Start to cry.

 

She’s still here

But she does

Not know why

 

Evening comes

And someone calls my name.

 

Maybe it is your voice

That beckons me into the rain

 

But no.

 

She wants a cigarette

And when she hears I have none left

She curses

Marching out into the storm

While buddy’s getting up

To drink ‘til dawn.

 

I never hear you

When I am awake

So I will drink

Until I see your face.

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About dcduell

Failed musician. Trying to write for TV. Never sure quite where I'm headed. Serial un-funnyman. I used to do a lot of writing. Sometimes I still do. So I decided to put it on the internet. I'm on Facebook and Twitter. Pretty active on the former, not so much on the latter. Holler at me.
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