Can't wait to get drunk, sleep in a garbage can with a skinny dog named Skipper, on a fryday lonely night. Another loveless night in wich you can't see any pretty stars all the way up there, in heaven maibe. These people around me are city ghosts whom I pitty, but not less than I pitty myself.
Oh, poor drunken bastard, whats on your mind? You know the bottle will eventually slip off your hand, so why keep holding it so tightly? Time to let somethings go, time to let them fade away.
Jazz was the best gig in NY City. But I can't really say that anymore, since I have became so much of a big deal. Let's get shit-faced.