Barstool Confessions

Work clothes still damp, I claim my throne, Dreamed all day of this amber zone. Scholar of sweat with cash in hand, Logic fled like shifting sand. False pride steers this nightly ride, Watch the hometown hero's slide. Forget her smile, her gentle grace; I'll take the bottle, claim this space. Darkness falls as I hold court, Nursing drinks while cutting short The bedtime stories, tucked-in prayers, Trading love for liquid affairs. They deserve their daddy home, But ego says I've earned this foam. Picked the barstool, played the fool, Learned too late the golden rule. Silence settles, crowd grows thin, The happy hour hero's sin. Last light fading, last call near, Another night dissolving here.

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.