Rings of coffee decorate the book of blue Scribbles in its guts, rantings Instructions on how to survive Ink stains on my fingertips Stark raving madness in their eyes The door swings open And a seat is pulled up for the broken: Shards of whiskey tumbled stones Bones coated in barleycorn syrup— The door swings shut, never locked Bears lap the honey from the runaway Never mindful about not leaving teeth marks More scars, more madness, less honey For the Grace of Bob there goes I