Down to the last cent.

Misery, some sweet teacher, going to school you when you find yourself reaching for credit thats not there.
After you lose your job, people say you don´t have a life what´s to lose but fear.
The species of coincidence you found in the men´s bathroom was a horrid one.
Bar drinking along the binge cause your desperate organ needed fun.
Down to the last cent you leave the bar and the door closes with a sound of no turning back.
The last thing to your name is soggy and takes up most of the space in the rucksack.
Dim eyes see out, hangover showers and bleak bleak winters begin.
Your withdrawls hug you like a leper.
Down to your last cent and those friendly neighbours are praying for you to move away.