The No Shoes Blues

We are shattered and broken bottles
Of whiskey and gin lying still
And barely breathing after spitting
Out all we had and killing the grass.

There's no doubt they'll melt down
And stain us but let's pray we
Don't end up trying to look famous.
We all know the virgin was never that tall.

Or maybe we'll be like some carnival ride,
In a fake empty town with cotton-faced kids
Marveling at men who are moving hot sticks,
Admiring a trade that's so easy to forget.

So let's just lay here in pieces and wait until
We can make someone feel and know who we are.