Whiskey Words

It was always “Write drunk, edit sober”
And it always seemed worth a shot
Hemingway knew what broken was
He loved hard in every battle he fought

But when I drink, I don’t write
Hell, I can’t even find my pen
Too many phone calls to be made
Too many secrets I’ve kept in

Because whiskey’s been too friendly
And lovers love the taste of rum
Forget the day, forget their names
Being drunk’s not so much fun

So the only time I’m high enough
And still not gone at all
Is sometime half past two a.m.
Waiting for your call

That’s when I should be writing
That’s when my heart seems full
It might’ve worked for Hemingway
But whiskey keeps me dull

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