The Drunkard's Cry for Help

It's three a.m.
and I don't know jack.
All my haters
are giving me slack.

I'm on the edge;
I want to fight,
No one's holding
me back tonight.

Broken, bloodied
then knocked down;
Time for the next
triple shot of Crown.

I'm back up and
rearing to go.
Who will be next?
Who's my next foe?

Why all this fighting?
What is the meaning?
Outside, I'm calm,
but inside I'm screaming.

I'm screaming in pain
from the agony of life,
wondering, "when is the
next time I can pick up the knife?"