The Night Watchman

Waking up to the cold deep inside

My consciousness floating over pits of despair

Looking down at who I was before

And where I am headed today

Cup of steam in my hand

Warm at the bus stop if I can lean in

Staring down at the liquor bottles from the night before

I wonder what he was thinking, sitting here before dawn

Just a few hours before me

Waiting for the day to come, another day and another bottle

Begging for change on the street

Keeping watch over the evening

I come here each morning, and watch the remnants

Get blown away by the wind

St. Ides,
St. Ides and cigarettes

Still warm with breath

I take a hit from my cup of steam

And observe the start of a new day

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