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Cobra
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John Barleycorn
Quicksand stretches around me,
in all directions
I had met my match.
I had been overwhelmed.
As the alcohol rose to my head,
I told myself this time is the end
we feel we are on the broad highway,
walking hand in hand
with the spirit of the universe.
I Sell my soul to my friend
no words can tell the loneliness of that way
Take my soul, my friend
Maybe if you drank with me, it would help.
I used to think to myself
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my problems with whiskey,
were of our own making.
Bottles were only a symbol.
Is drinking a way of killing myself?,
or is killing myself a way of drinking?
the best friend to walk with,
across the path of gods,
made out of naked truths and death.
I Sell my soul to my friend
no words can tell the loneliness of that way
Take my soul, my friend
Maybe if you drank with me, it would help.
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