On The Rocks, Somewhere Just Below The Sands Of Time
Somewhere Just Below The Sands Of Time. The Rocks.
My third hour glass is half full,
I sit in a numbing haze gazing at it,
taking long slow sips of forgetfulness.
The first and second hour glasses
drained time over chrystalized liquid
easing the pain of your abscence,
My keys gnaw at the leg of my jeans,
but I am unfit to drive
and there is no where left to go.
Vodka talls on the rocks
comfort me now
in sensually shaped tumblers,
My fourth hour glass,
might just bring me the bliss
of no longer caring that your gone.