St. Peter's Alleyway

the song I'm about to do gave me some trouble & problems in the past.
First time I tried, it was perfect, you shoulda heard, but I sang the wrong words.
Almost went along with it but I couldn’t get over.
Next time I tried I got the lyrics right but the music was stilted.
And if there's one thing I remember, I was just a little embryo in my mother's womb thinking; "This time around", cause I'm reincarnated, "This time around nothing's gonna be stilted or miffed, close-encountered or negligent." So I tried it again with a rabble-rousey bent but it came out lousy. Wasn’t swimmy;
so I ditched it. I kept switching it and ditching, ditching and switching, finally decided “cut the pretext, put it in context”, how'd that be?

A drunkard's game is a waiting damn game
waiting for the world to change & bring me back
my girl; bring me back my future and my name.
I stand out in the road waiting for the neon sign to
light up the window. / Then I'll say good nite to
this woeful clay and tomorrow the bells will ring,
bombs'll blow off & the cops'll put a lock on my
door. & the neighbors explain he don't live here,
he don't live anywhere anymore.

So many times thru so thick and such thin, no going around again; no going back to where it's been; it's just alienated, annexed, appendixed & ostracized. Mr. Johnny Problems was screwing around with this verse too, you know, apparelling the globe- Pandora & Dionysus walking around behind the wal-mart hand in hand.

St. Peter's alleyway - strewn with broken empties
and cast away pieces of cars
& evidence quickly tossed
quickly tossed out of back doors of bars.
And your passage thru there's not a leisurely stroll
when you've lost most your motor control
and your judgement's on hold
and the shoes of your soul are ravaged by your dead soldiers