truth is unkind

Truth is unkind to our illusions

This morning I nurse a different kind of head
A single scene replaying behind the dialogue

Watch the parade of yuppies, thugs and freaks
From behind the glass of my hangover

Eat the Greek omlette in front of me
And I don’t understand why I only relax under scrutiny

“There is no me left to be”, I think
As I chew eggs and gyro meat, as unlikely a combination as myself

As America watches dueling pianos on television
And the conspiracy plays the radio

Shit

I’m drinking again
The only way to make sense of things on Sunday