The Last Call King

Salt-stained shirt, another day done, Chasing cold relief when five o'clock comes. Blue-collar prophet with dollars to burn, Common sense scattered, no lessons learned. Ego's compass spins me wrong, See the local legend sing his song. Skip the beauty, skip the chase; Give me amber in a dimly lit place. Here I reign as twilight dies, Counting bottles while my babies cry. The barroom crown sits heavy and cold, Two-for-one deals worth more than gold. At home they wait, my heart, my life, But pride whispers I've earned this knife. Chose the leather throne, the fool's own rule, Nobody warned me about this school. Empty stool, empty man, The happy hour hero's final stand.