Whiskey Talks

He leans on the bar like it’s all that he’s got,

Boots full of miles and a soul full of rot.

Eyes like a storm that forgot how to rain,

Voice low and gravelled, soaked in old pain.

He said, "Son, don’t ask what I did back then,

Some ghosts ride quiet, some ride again."

He lifted his glass with a shakin’ hand,

And whispered, "This bottle still understands."

'Cause whiskey talks when no one will,

Tells the truth with a bitter chill.

It don’t judge and it don’t lie,

It just burns slow while the years go by.

So pour one more for the things I’ve lost—

Sometimes silence has a cost…

and whiskey talks.

He spoke of a woman with fire in her hair,

Left him one night with a cold, empty stare.

Said, "Love’s a loaded gun with a gold-plated grip—

By the time it clicks, you're already hit."

The jukebox hummed a tune long gone,

While his memories danced like ghosts to the song.

He laughed once soft, like a man set free,

Then stared through the glass like it might set him be.

'Cause whiskey talks when no one will,

Tells the truth with a bitter chill.

It don’t judge and it don’t lie,

It just burns slow while the years go by.

So pour one more for the things I’ve lost—

Sometimes silence has a cost…

and whiskey talks.

He said, "If I had a chance to go back in time,

I’d change nothin’ but the rhythm and rhyme.

Some stories ain’t meant to end clean,

They're carved in dust and kerosene."

Now whiskey talks, and I sit still,

Drinkin’ down dreams I can’t refill.

It don’t judge and it don’t lie,

But it’ll haunt you when it says goodbye.

Yeah, I raise my glass to the men I was—

To the hurt, the fire, the fatal flaws…

and let whiskey talk.