Because I was thinking
On Sunday morning
Of getting some breakfast
And it won’t be the same
If we show up sober
Because eggs and hash browns
Won’t taste like whiskey
And get your drink on
In this old, old world

Because I was thinking
On Monday morning
Of getting some more sleep
And we’re always so tired
If we show up sober
Because work for glory
Won’t taste like whiskey
And get your drink on
In this old, old world

Because I was thinking
On Tuesday morning
Of running for mayor
And we’ll never be elected
If we show up sober
Because laws and power
Won’t taste like whiskey
And get your drink on
In this old, old world

Because I was thinking
On Wednesday morning
Of heading to the chapel
And we can’t get married
If we show up sober
Because rings and flowers
Won’t taste like whiskey
And get your drink on
In this old, old world

Because I was thinking
On Thursday morning
Of writing a story
And it won’t be a good one
If we show up sober
Because pens and papers
Won’t taste like whiskey
And get your drink on
In this old, old world

Because I was thinking
On Friday morning
Of trains and taxis
And we won’t be happy
If we show up sober
Because leaving my baby
Won’t taste like whiskey
And get your drink on
In this old, old world

Because I was thinking
On Saturday morning
Of coming back quickly
And trying to do things over
If we show up sober
Because tears for the future
Won’t taste like whiskey
And get your drink on
In this old, old world

I wrote this quickly a couple of days ago.  Maybe too quickly.  And at first I liked it.  But now I am really not so sure.  Well, except for the part about the eggs and hash browns.

And it’s one of those feelings I never liked.  Where you wake up and you can still taste whatever you drank the night before.  Because some drinks are worse than others.  And to me the worse has always been rum.

But I wrote this and it seems similar to other things that I’ve heard or read.  Maybe some mixture of the music that I have been listening to:  Nathan James & Ben Hernandez with a side of Vagabond Opera.  And also a little bit of Nedelle (who though I know from way back, I am always a bit surprised when her music gets stuck in my head).

If you shift the days you could tell a different story.  But that was the order they came out.  And so I resisted the temptation.

On a side note, this artist Paul Chatem did a series of paintings called “It tastes like whiskey.”  I’d never heard of him.  (Oh, the power of Google.)  But they seem to fit the mood.  And I rather like his paintings.

Anyways, someday I will put this to music and sing it in the shower.  And perhaps my sisters will be there to tape it.

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