Drunken Poets Society

Just tell me: how far away can «far away» be?
Cause last night I felt my own heart beating
and it scared the shit out of me.
Maybe a drunken poet will never go out of style
when life becomes just waiting after a while.
Am I right, John? If so, please let me know.
Cause tonight I can’t think of any place to go.
Just a few wise words, it would be so kind.
With which I can leave a lifetime behind.
Fingernails and dust just make a lousy meal
— I guess I’ll count those bruises that I never want to heal.
We smashed the hourglass, now we’re drowning in sand
— and everyone’s too busy to lend a helping hand.
Do I kill time or does time kill me?
Tell me: how far away can «far away» be?