The World at My Feet

I am little more than a troubled mind
In  a shaking head locked in a room
With  a bottle of jack throwing punches
Reminiscent of meaningful conversation
All I’ve got is time and drinking problem to kill it
Trivial  notion of a glass half full, got a sour taste fill it

Death’s  coming but I’m sick waiting
No peace because I’m busy hating
Nine  lives, a million second chances and trail of hearts and failed romances
I’m watching the smoke dance around my room
I’m fading to nothing before noon
You would’ve thought I’d be full of love
I  had the world at my feet but I fucked it all up