Lo, the moonshiner sits
gulping poison down,
balanced on a bar stool,
a king in a booze-brewed crown.

Lo, the moonshiner sits,
empty bottle in his hand
the decrepit, bloated shell
of a listless, drunken man.

Lo the moonshiner sits
crying in his sleep
bathed in pools of whiskey,
little more than bones to reap.

Lo, the moonshiner died
lost in all he couldn't feel
too far gone to realize
the loaded gun was real.








---

ty Metaphorest, for the inspiration to rhyme ;]



RHYMING IZ HARD. D:
:]
And thank you, cat, for telling me how to spell decrepit and giving me the specifications of a ballad. :D


oh, and important ps.
I love Whiskey.



<3C