Drains the last of the bottle
Looking out into the blue-black bruise of night
No trains coming through ’til morning
In a blackout he meets his own dark soul
But he won’t remember it in the morning
He listens with Jack Daniels’ ears
For something, for anything
He watches the static of the old tv
Waiting for God to speak to him again
And just before he passes out
He has an epiphany, which is then lost
Life On The Skinny Branches 