(The Bartender)

The story I'm about to tell you begins at what might seem to be a tragic ending
For we find our hero in a nauseating state of intoxication
Face down in the dirt of a back alley
Somewhere behind the bar he was kicked out of earlier that evening
The only warmth stopping his shivering comes from a bottle tightly clenched in his numb hand
A bottle that had long run dry
Well that cold night air was starting to sober him up
And he was beginning to remember the past he's been working so hard to forget

Well he stumbles to his feet and journeys into the night
Looking for any kind soul with a bottle to share
Or hell a bottle to steal would do him just fine
Now I know what you're thinking
How could any man of such disdain
Such contempt towards his fellow man be the hero of any tale
You probably thinking he ought to sober up and be honest with himself
Let go of the past
Thinking he should man up and do the right thing
Well when your past is that of our hero's you'll realize
He's been trying his damnedest
But all that honesty turns to loathing after a time

So our hero continues down those dark streets until he reaches the edge of town
There he spots a building still fixed with a dim light flickering in the window
And so our hero's journey would begin
After meeting the Bartender