• I sit at the bar
    an order another round
    another round
    for the myself and the others

    Joy receives it
    with his usually foolish smile
    he lifts it to his lips
    and drains it all

    And Anger
    slams down the empty glass
    he grits his teeth
    and lets a low growl escape his lips

    And sorrow stares at the empty shot
    and mumbles sadly
    and lowers his head
    to shed a few lonely tears

    And than I hand the shot
    back to the waitress
    and ask for yet another
    to drown myself and the others

    And so it will go
    till I am drunk
    and till I drag with me
    the other parts of my soul