I went to school to serve whiskey and wipe down a bar.
The one thing they don't tell you is you don't get very far.
I get paid to memorize drink names and serve rude guests;
The temperments range from the worst to the best.
There are happy drunks, depressed drunks, violent drunks, too.
There's drunks that get drunk and blame it on you.
Some pour their heart out and make you cry;
Some sit and laugh at days gone by.
At the end of the day, or night, whichever I've earned,
I go home and try to forget what I've learned.
For some stories I hear I wish I wouldn't.
To erase them from my minde, I simply couldn't.
My life is a confusing one. Times blend and memories fade.
There's little money to earn and no friends to be made.
As a bartender, it is so easy to be robbed
of time, friends, and memories to be fond.
I'll do my shift because it is the norm,
then, I'll go home, crawl into bed, amd start again in the morn.