Awhisky bottle comforts me
Andtells me not to cry
Whilea full moon says a prayer for me
Itry to close my eyes
Butthe night's left to remind me
Ofthe guns and the early graves
Theghosts appear as I fall asleep
Tosing an outlaws serenade
Lookingaround she took her bag. Everything was done. Nothing for her to doleft. The expected feeling was not coming. It was not hard to seethis room that had become familiar to her. The only kind of home shehad known all her life. The place where pictures of quiet naturescenes and posters of unicorns where decorating the walls. All ofthem had become friends in the long lonely years that lay behind her.It could have been her home but she felt uneasy and restless. Maybeshe could stay – if she did not leave at once. And after havingstayed? The call inside would become stronger and stronger still. Shehad to go. Go now.
Slowlyshe turned to the door. Mechanically she took the ring – this ringthat had become a chain for her – of her finger and replaced it byanother one. She was ready now.
Firstshe went downstairs to the gambling hall. Placing the money on thecounter she said "I need change for cigarettes an a coffee. Blacklike my soul".
Theman smiled at her, started a conversation. No one asked about the bagshe was carrying. It seemed to be a normal evening. But when she tookher bag to leave she kissed a friend of hers.
Dyingain't much of a living
Whenyou're living on the run
Dyingain't much of a living
Forthe young
Isit to late to ask for forgiveness
Forthe things that I have done?
Dyingain't much of a living
Forthe young.
