GONE

You're gone, 

there's no you, 

there's no foot in the shoe, 

Sure, I'll take your money down to the shop 

and pick up your bottles of bargain red, 

though they might as well be the bullets 

that blow the brains out the top of your head,   

And you don't drink from them, darling, 

they drink from you, 

I miss you, at least I think I do, 

but memory's not as we like to think, 

from stagnant pools we ought not drink, 

and were you kind, and did you care, 

did you wash the fag smoke from your hair?   

And you don't drain them, darling, 

they drain you, 

There's no life in you, soul in you, 

alcohol stole from you, addled your mind 

and corroded a hole in you, broke your teeth, 

stained your words, buried its hand in you, 

poisoned the guards, let your spirit abandon you, 

And you didn't finish them, darling, 

they finished you.