All right.
So this next one I think I can say that it's
a local favorite at this point.
It's called "Happy Hour."
It was written during a time when I was not happy.
And I remember the first time I wrote this.
I didn't intend on reliving this experience over and over again.
But the audience likes it.
So I tend to do a pretty good poem every time.
Yeah.
So yes, it's called "Happy Hour."
Hope you guys like it.
"Thirsty, dehydrated without the taste for water,
don't want water.
Ready to take something and embrace something better
than you.
But the pain resonates, something burning
in my chest other than you.
And as my lips play around the lips of this glass,
I'm wondering what you're doing in these moments,
in these hours.
If you're finding yourself in happy hours,
no longer relating to elation because you're my love.
You can bring such sweetness to a bitter bottle.
I asked you for a sip.
Not did I ask for the bottle.
Yet, we toasted, drifted, and drunk, dizziness,
got high anyways until you became a lack of inhibition.
See, I hated you in the morning.
But I loved you in the moments.
You were a coalition, colliding hearts.
You were uninvited sparks.
You were fabricated remedies.
You were pain.
And you were misery.
God must have made you when he was hung over.
Hung over every line until the headaches became unbearable.
See, you were an addiction.
You were an abused substance.
Or maybe you were just a substance
that I chose to abuse.
So I sit here and I'm thirsty.
And I'm dehydrated without the taste for water
ready to taste something.
And it brings something better than you.
Let the pain resonate something burning
in my chest other than you.
And as my lips play on the lips of this glass,
I'm wondering what you're doing in these moments
and these hours, if you too are finding yourself
in happy hours no longer relating to elation.