Now I lay me down to sleep

on yellow sheets with whisky sour.

I settle back to scan the wall

and suck a drunk man's cigarette.

​

​

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

from whiskys number eight and nine.

I bow my head to speak of sin

and fold my hands around the glass.

​

​

If I should die before I wake,

still crucified, unsanctified,

I won't remember what I prayed,

so here's the message, just in case.

​

​

I pray the Lord my soul to take

apart, at every joint and seam.

then dry me with a cooling breeze

and nail the pieces back in place.

​

​

Amen.