Quiet Friday afternoon, the sun will sure be setting soon, ground floor of a cheap motel, an empty man that’s just a shell

Car broke down, it’s somewhere stuck, a broken man down on his luck, all his life a punching bag, discarded like a torn up rag

Trying just to numb the pain, a loaded needle to a vein, he knows it’s not the way to deal, he just can’t cope with how he feels

Turns off the lights and goes to bed, demons dancing through his head, eyes shut he begins to pray, tomorrow brings a better day