I'm generally not a morning drinker
Said the gold-tooth man to the barkeep
Ordering his second gimlet

The writer works at the lush life
Out of compulsion
And oh he carves himself in two

In which we meet the sly detective
Mixed up in a case he’ll provide a getaway
For an old friend

He tails a drunk who’s a paperback writer
A bo'le rage fighter

And oh, his lady such a prey thing
He carves himself in two

The morning drinker keeps them coming
Makes a study of the ice as it cracks
In the glass beneath the poison

His wife is dying
He keeps from crying

Harnessing his pain
To all the characters he’s made
And he gives each one a name
And when he drinks alone
He talks to them out loud
For love’s a word
For love’s a word

The detective’s on a toxic cocktail
Two parts mistrust and one part lust
For a certain woman

He can’t resist all her wild advances
Her tribal dances

Her husband in the next room
As their love begins to bloom
But he cuts their dalliance off too soon

Between the millionaire
And the man in the mug shot
There is an unwri'en agreement
That anyone anywhere can be bought

It is a path lined with
Blood, money, and deceit
The brighter the writer
The lighter the touch
As they offer their cunning critique

The morning drinker’s on the beach now
Sca'ering the ash from an urn
With a splash to test the water