The Drunk
Take a sip, the bottle beckons
Draw the drinker in
Snag her wrist with fingers firm
She takes a swig of gin
At times she feels like dancing
And at times she cannot move
The bottle pins her down
Oh, what a twisted kind of love
The liquid kisses seem so sweet
Before tomorrow’s dawn
But come the daylight, she can see
That sugared kiss is gone
She’s bruised and she is beat
But is it of her own accord?
When a woman is a drunk
How many drinks can she afford?
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