Watching the sand fall,
listening for the knock
upon my door,
and waiting. . .
for Promised Land.

Standing neck deep in life,
my ring of brass
lay rusting on the floor.
Is this all?,
because it's not what I expected.

Somewhere along the way
friends I once held close
fled the fast lane.
I didn't notice,
I just had to make it.
head down, nose to the grindstone;
the kiss of life
placed on my brow
somehow slid to the ground
and lies buried six feet under.

Preaching from the floor again
the same old sad song,
"Bartender . . . bring another drink for their favorite son."

Where did it all go wrong?
What's the use in even holding on?
Here's to love, hate . . . and promises.

Almost called it today.
Turned to face "The Void"
numb with the suffering
and the question,
"Why am I. . . ?"
So many times I've
tried and failed to
gather my courage, reach again for that nail.
Life's been like
dragging feet through sand,
and never finding . . . Promised Land.

Preaching from the floor again
the same old sad song,
"Bartender . . . bring another drink for their favorite son."
Where did it all go wrong?
I feel like I'm dying.
Here's to love, to hate,
to promises and Promised Land lies