Those memories of you and me
Are sometimes just too much,
As I lay here alone at night,
Just longing for your touch.
And sometimes I’ll reach out for you
And find that you’re not there.
Then I’ll reach for the bottle,
And soon I just won’t care.
When I reach for the bottle,
I wish that it was you.
‘Cause it can’t hold me in the night
The way you used to do.
But it helps ease those memories
Which sometimes make me blue.
So I reach for the bottle,
‘Cause I can’t reach for you.
Another night has come and gone.
As morning comes, I rise
And stumble from the bedroom
With teardrops in my eyes.
Then I sit by the telephone
Which doesn’t ever ring,
And I reach for the bottle
To block out everything.
Sept. 7, 1990
© 2010 – 2011, Steven R. Drennon. All rights reserved.