1. The Routine


The morning breaks hard at the corner saloon
Dawn is a Budweiser sign
His arms hit the bar and his sips his lips
And each ashtray’s as red as his eyes

A jukebox sings in the corner
He curses the loud foreign noise
He curses his teams and he curses his dreams
And he curses the young college boys

The first drink of the day’s the last drink of last night
His skin feels just like peeling paint
He can’t be sure if he’s dying
But he sure can’t say that he ain’t

There’s a hole ‘neath his nose where every drop goes
Into a belly full of bile and booze
With no one at home and no place to go
Without winning he might as well lose

Each day starts the same like the patter of rain
As down through the gutter it falls
Until the bucket that he grips is too heavy to lift
And the engine of life kinda stalls

It’s three blocks each way, four times a day
As if it’s his job it seems
He goes home for a nap, around five he comes back
Like a zoo you can watch the routine