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THE LAST RESORT

I went traveling one long day
I knew I had to get away
Go where I’d never been before
One last trip out Heaven’s door

I came upon a scary place
With Stephen King writ on its face
Seemed the usual tourist trap
But it wasn’t on life’s messy map

It isn’t me
It isn’t fun
Pull the trigger
No more sun

Checking in smelled desperation
A soul’s untimely decimation
A scent of those old heartbreak blues
Nothing to look forward to

I was on a cold, long journey
From nothing to a body gurney
So with little left for me to lose
I asked them for their sparkling booze

It was a regal stately wine
Right off of the twisting vine
Sent me back to days of hope
Before the black when I could cope

It isn’t me
It isn’t fun
Pull the trigger
No more sun

I’m staying at The Last Resort
Where through their lives good people sort
Sometimes you hear a gun report
The Indians have stormed the fort!

It’s one of many murky sites
Where the future bravely fights
Against the long and lonely cry
Of everlasting Long Goodbye

It isn’t me
It isn’t fun
Pull the trigger
No more sun

Sanity gets bravely tossed
After many loves are lost
What love is lost you may ask?
It is the meaningful artist task

The fulfillment of the special “I”
That which time and money can’t buy
The deepest bravest part of me
Which in turn helps me to see

Life’s revolving distant order
But I’m trapped in deep dark Mordor
Watching the death of the elusive “try”
Breathing a long and lonely sigh

It isn’t me
It isn’t fun
Pull the trigger
No more sun

Hammered hard and hammered long
By that stark reality song
Energy all gone to ground
No more juice for another round

When my head is always spinning
And my steady reason’s thinning
Things will turn an ugly red
Comes Big Sleep in a fancy bed

Everything turns so surreal
There really is no God appeal
Reality swirls around my being
Hopes and dreams desperately fleeing

It isn’t me
It isn’t fun
Pull the trigger
No more run

(I bow out gracefully)