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November eve at dusk we drive along the river
Heater on the blink beginning to shiver
Headlights on the pavement a blur in the mist
My breath a fog on the windshild vision no longer crisp
No longer confident in my motor skills
Vodka beer chaser depression pills
Wayne my compadre passed out in the back
Two old fools reason and discipline we surely lack
I was born August fifteenth nineteen forty seven
In Doctor Nabors' nursing home PM quarter past eleven
Far too old to drink and drive
Not if I wish to remain alive
Tempting the Reaper his cold foul breath
On the back of my neck calling the wisdom bereft
The road slick the curve sharp
Through the guardrail into the void of the dark
Falling falling screaming crying
Forced to contemplate the prospect of dying
Was it the impact on the jagged rock
Propelling me from the car into the stygian dark
Where is the shock where is the pain
Have I hit my head dashed my brain
Groping my way through the smokey haze
lost confused like a rate trapped in a maze
Fear anger self-loathing so sad
Oh well ain't the worst dream I every had
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