Roaming amongst our favourite haunts,
Living our lives in front of bars
As if we were incarcerated behind them.
Where the clink of the slammers
We down in order to give ourselves a lift
Enlighten our heads,
The pressure of life keeping us locked within our cells,
A séance of strangers all gathered individually,
All wanting to be with the inn crowd,
Segregated from our souls.
Finding security in the confinement we’re compelled to hold on to.
At liberty to leave at any time but unwilling to let ourselves go.
Not haunted by the past
But by the future,
Presently afraid of what we may lose.
Haunted by life,
By the fact we have to die.
Haunted by beauty,
Knowing we cannot take it all in.
Feeling we might die at any moment.
Our lives so intense we desire release
To escape the captivity of our minds.
Shell shocked from a life lived before,
Bearing nostalgia for places we’ve never been to,
From a time we’ve never lived through.
Born on the wrong side of a generation,
With the ability to do anything we want
While finding nothing we want to do,
With everything going for us and nothing to show for it,
Persuading others to do what we fail to do.
With only our bottle to hold onto
As we embalm ourselves to preserve our guilt,
Sustaining our punishment in solemnising the irony of drinking our health
While answering our mortality by questioning it.