the final countdown

I didn't really want to post this until it was less autobiographical.

erses from the Bible of the totally fucked
once more into the breach
one more day, and we will be released
we, we lie a lot
we have to
together, two by two
these red eyes like taillights
blown corneas, swollen veins
driver's eyes alike
they flow past blown
streaming everywhere you don't want to be
Visa flips either way, and it slides so easy
500, twice, two signatures
a white towel and a titty fuck
in a bar outside the airport
three numbers on the back
somehow, this security features
never prevents you
from taking last call
and pounding it unconscious
sixteen ounces at a time
four hours later, four lanes wide
flying red lights, two at a time
all of them staring backward bleary
glaring, hungover, hating hearing
the clock toll in the morning
five o'clock roll call
snap to attention
time to go everywhere you don't want to be
five fingers gripping the wheel
shaking aching for some baking
five fingers wrapped around the bong the glass
drink it deep
BAC will guide you to sleep
do you drink and drive?
do you really live and thrive?
is this what we live for
to barely survive until we die
these five fingers, they're slippin
I'm sippin I'm tripping I'm drinkin I'm rippin
trying to stay focused on this mission
but I'm confused, because I keep paying my dues
and every day the paper feels like old news
the whole world is cast in mindless gray hues
except those red eyes, streaming two by two
I don't know
maybe none of this is touchin' you
but I can't handle this
but I can't breathe this
I say I don't want to leave it,
but six nights a week
I'm out of it
six feet tall, he had a green throwback
a shoulder holster
scribbling deathbed thoughts at the Big Fat Greek
irony, I almost met my end in the street
but there's nothing missing, nothing mattered
no difference
six hours later
seventy-fifth at seven am
the HOVA lane officially exists
but it's so early no one's at this party
even God slept on the seventh
I'm still mainlining coffee bean cocaine
eight beats in a bar
count 'em
count 'em to keep yourself steady
at eight when you're already topped off
already been home stepped out to step off
to soar the things I can't do without
don't really need 'em, just chug 'em, just breathe 'em
nine exits
gotta hustle, gotta go
don't feel great, can't be late
hate feeling this way
hate that I don't even feel alone
maybe this is what it's like to be grown
nine exits worth of miserable red taillights
drivers' eyes alike
glaring staring hating hearing
the clock toll in the morning
five o clock fuck it all roll call
you everywhere you never wanted to be --

good things come to those who wait,
but I have never been a patient person.

Let my Toyota's tiny ten-inch speakers
bump this final countdown
nine thousand more yards
I can already see the bridge pylon
closing in like Amistad's freedom
eight legs of old fears playing mental tricks
crawling on my windshield
but I can see sanity through the slime
seven levels of hell
the darkest part of depression
the deepest secret of the bells
don't ask, don't tell
six sibling's I'll fail
all angels I hailed
I dreamt them in dreams
so I could tell them tall tales
five thousand miles
for six month spells
round trip
is more than Scherezade could fill
I slipped, I need, I miss
my baby sister's kiss
never put a razor to my wrist
but there's a beauty burning in this
four cylinders aching
four chambers in the human heart, all breaking
three seconds to impact
this is understanding in a car crash
two by two, red eye river
flows too exhausted to ask why
two hands on the wheel
look those lights in the eye
and turn to the side
do it right
everybody after's gonna know
because two by two we all flow
burning, glaring, hating, all alone
just one, all alone
it's my time
i'm sick of driving in the lines
I've lost my shine
the 59th street pylons
are lookin' mighty fine