The World at My Feet

I am little more than a troubled mind

In  a shaking head locked in a room

With  a bottle of jack throwing punches

Reminiscent of meaningful conversation

All I’ve got is time and drinking problem to kill it

Trivial  notion of a glass half full, got a sour taste fill it



Death’s  coming but I’m sick waiting

No peace because I’m busy hating

Nine  lives, a million second chances and trail of hearts and failed romances

I’m watching the smoke dance around my room

I’m fading to nothing before noon

You would’ve thought I’d be full of love

I  had the world at my feet but I fucked it all up