Entitled "Beaver Street Dreams"

Fingers cramp searching for loose change in couch cushions

Hoping a miracle by God is bestowed on me tonight

I know I should stop doing this

I’m in too deep now there’s no turning back

Doing anything I can to feel the rush of going to Beaver Street

As the bills pile up on the table

I convinced myself that every night will be different

Still I sing the same sad song

Remembering times when hitting the number

Was as frequent As the mail in my mailbox

What kind of glutton have I become

Literally begging, borrowing, and stealing from anyone

I even went as low as taking money from the precious hands of my grandchildren

Just so I can feel happy again

Showtime is now upon me

My pupils jump with excitement

As around ping-pong balls dictate how my night will go

The numbers bouncing around send my heart into my stomach

My nerves start to twitch

Itching with excitement

As the beginning sequence starts to appear

Suddenly in a moments notice my good fortune is ripped from me like hot wax to Chest hair

My confidence begins to deflate

The thrill is embedded deep within my veins

As I write my next laundry list of numbers

Journey to the liquor store once again

Each wrinkle caked deep within my face

Serves as a reminder that this addiction

Is beginning to consume all of me

Desperately wanting The feel of dollar bills to caress my fingertips

Because nothing is better than going to Beaver Street