I’d quit, but I’m afraid I’m done down,

That hill, a bottle short and dry throat,

Hit after hit, lost in a dry bin,

Short a dollar, or a dollar short,

A bit of hay, a match in the stack,

Burning down my life, drowning down town,

Bars entrapped me, pots and pans consumed me,

Looking to be free, instead drowned 6 feet deep.