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Wasted by disease

someone staggered into an empty alley

tricked by the jester of firewater

someone began laughing at their own destruction

and it all seemed hopeless

there in the darkness of the early morning

this vigorous celebration of nothing

and it all seemed like varnish

an effort to cover over the cracks

the pain of a crumbling foundation

the anger burning at the center of the alcoholic

the power of rage turned to self-destruction
but no matter how long someone has been running

from the stream of reality and reason

someone is only a moment away from the turning

toward a new direction

when their winter begins vanishing

washed away by the spring of salvation