Waitsiana

One of the all-time great bards of the bottle is, of course, Tom Waits. Indeed, in my opinion, he is quite clearly the pre-eminent singer-songwriter of the past few decades, and just about the only one whose work really does often stand up without the music as poetry. (Please, let's not get started on a debate on that. If you give me Dylan, I might at least listen to the argument.... before dismissing it. If you give me Cohen or Morrison or any of the rest, I'm afraid I will just scoff and jeer.)

Many years ago, just as I was starting to write - and, coincidentally, just as I was starting to get into Tom in a big way (that's what University is for!) - I knocked off this little piece in emulation of the master. I recently rediscovered it, and find that I still quite like it.



Livin' in a Vodka Bottle

Well, I've been livin' in a vodka bottle for these past few weeks.
Goin' back there now, I guess, to get away from all you freaks.
It makes a cosy little pad, it's all that I could ask;
At least, a little roomier than my dented old hipflask.

You can come and join me, if you like; I'll make some room for you.
We could spend the evening in, and maybe share a thought or two.
Oh, it's a little like a goldfish bowl, but a decent place to hide:
Just pretend that they can't see you, 'cos you know...
...it's safer on the inside.

Company I can take or leave, but now all my money's spent...
I just gotta find somebody to help me meet the rent.