| |
morning begins with you awakening to the sounds of a marching
band playing in your head. And for some reason they've left
their socks in your mouth. You kneel down and pray for forgiveness
at the alter of indulgence. It's a mighty good prayer. Sometimes
it even works. But when it don't, you reach for a bottle of
Doc Harry's finest bloody mary mix. It's just about as close
as you can get to redemption in a bottle, or my name ain't
Doc Harry.
 |
|
 |
|
