I'm not suicidal,
No killing takes strength
And idle men sleep
With sheets over their eyes.
But dreaming takes time
When other men die
And weakness wakes you
With hot sweat and cold gin.
I'm not drinking too much,
No drowning takes breath
And what you can see through
Dead spotted pale flesh,
Is the last of the classical,
Such a predictable stretch.
More salt on the highway,
Less blood to my neck.
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