A drinker of ashes they would have never known me as
As I confidently lifted a tainted glass
Of course my penance was accidental
No profit incidentally
I was drunk merrily
For a change of pace
Probably for the eighth time in the week
And I always say I’d rather be drunk on the ashes of saints
But when push come to shove it’s rarely from above
Something in my sternum presses out and makes my stomach cry
My head crack and my heart strain
And I jerk off and remember I’m lonely again
The bottle always empties (and I remember)
The cigarette burns to the filter of my fingers (and I remember)
And the caffeine sustains me in between (I very rarely forget!)
If I were only material too
If I’m just nicotine and vodka
Will I be emptied?
Or can I run to the point of it all
My baggage in tow
Is there a way home
Should I bow at my childhood bedside?
And drink that new bitter cup of faith
Mixed with the ashes of my favorite saint
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