Another thought has come and passed
Another bourbon in the glass
An empty page stares at my face
Mocking with it’s endless space
A purest magic at the start
Who knew my muse would soon depart?
The gaslights flicker in the street
My hidden muse I ache to meet
She’s a fickle one, I’ve learned this much
The cost is high for slightest touch
Smoke curls from my cigarette
I think of times I’d best forget
My muse is bitter, never sweet
I find no solace in the sheets
I lay awake with what went wrong
She will not grace me with her song
Her mocking voice within my head
I throw the covers from the bed
The scent of liquor, smoke of blue
I dedicate these words to you
© The Beginning At Last
The Beginning At Last 
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