Jeffery the Giraffe is on methadone
last year he was in a k-hole
dusted up and shootin dope
pissin himself in an alley, all alone
even he doesn't know
what his own soul was thinking
lost in the shadows and the shit puked out
from what he was drinking
while the rest of the world continued
he was sinking
from time to time awake enough
to remind himself to stop
do another line
and then forget what he'd just thought
at least now he can keep a steady job
a little bit less of a slob
and he feels like he's ready to move on
maybe do something right
this time around
irrelevance takes on a whole new meaning now


I never really knew the guy
and I don't know why
but his path has crossed mine
a couple of times
and I always seem to find
something to be fascinated by about him
curiosities enter my mind
perhaps he is my muse
and maybe I should use some more of his self-abuse
as fuel for my fire
my desire to remain inspired
requires attention and time
to be sacrificed
it demands all and doesn't play nice
mysterious and proud
and I wonder out loud
what Jeffery will be doing a year from now
will he blend with the other faces in the crowd
or go back to the alley defeated
with plenty of mistakes to be repeated
much like everyone else
will he break free like he wants
or wind up right back in Hell
it's so hard to tell
so strange i feel i know him so well
as if he's a part of my self
yet his life is a book on my shelf
we're so detached
perhaps reality's coming back
why invent such a history
with a damn giraffe