Blueser

Night's a chaser, sir.
If you run out of rum, run.

Go, socialize, meet some fellow monsters on the prowl.
It's cold outside and you don't have anywhere to go.
Night's sky's sly and not a bit too fly.

Beware of the war, whore.

Ideas and thoughts have never been so clear,

but in the morning you forget how to feel.

You found the meaning of life but it  made you black out.

You had it. Man, you were so close!
But then someone hit your nose.

And all you hate and all you love
mixes in your blood and in your epitaph.