the best teachers were degenerates
The best teachers were degenerates
The boys on the way down Are the fun drunks Unfamiliar with the cold bottom yet Holding their reasons while they can And toasting to nothings that they believe to be somethings and perhaps they are. But the crowd’s left and the stage is set young man, you’ll break a leg.
The men on the way up, Bandaged and bruised Still drunk and maybe learned learned a thing or two Are the best drinkers and more profound Than any narcissist scholar downtown And most doctors the same.
So won’t you sit for a pint? Because I’ve been there, done and indulged that. Although I’ve not seen it all I now see the cycle that awaits the man tall or small. The agony of frostbite isn’t the freezing, it’s the thaw.
Dried blood in my nose and holes in my clothes Nobody knows when it comes and I couldn’t give a fuck where it goes I’m just glad that it’s over and I felt each part of it leave.
And there’s no shortage of breakable things on a vehicle So the best mechanics are miserable. Reticent are the realest and the best lovers are forgivers. Love is only for givers. Though I wonder about the gravediggers.
They must be forever anchored like caskets in clay Or fully risen and thankful For one more day. Seems that the gravedigger is denied the fall and climb of man altogether.
They must need wine.