She leaves the back door open
every morning after.
She borrows money he doesn't have,
to pay for things she doesn't need.
He'll die from this eventually
but he's going down swinging,
with a royal pursed between his lips.

two hundred sixteen thousand on the odometer,
a hundred and sixteen of those were her.
His cigarettes are always gone before he finds them,
because she "quit" so she doesn't buy her own.
He'll feel the shame soon enough
but he's going down swinging
with one more shot of whiskey.

Every man has a breaking point
He skipped right over his,
into a valley of ashes
and splinters of glassy dreams.
A man can't survive in his world long.