I've Gotta Sell My Soul Poem by Mark Heathcote

I've gotta sell my soul, again
On the corner of some sidewalk
And forget my father's arms
And his hurt eyes, and his pet-talk
And my mother's vocal alarms
Shouting the night air is cold and bleak
It's too cold, baby, come back home, honey
We can support you, you can eat and sleep
We can forgive you come back home, baby
But I've got to sell my soul, again & again
In the rain, in the rain, in the rain,
Because I need to get loaded
I don't care for priests and saints
I don't need saving from my sin….
Because sin, it pays for my gin
I just need to get loaded out of my mind
And not to be told how to begin again
I've gotta sell my soul, again
Just as the night follows the day
I need that dark side of the moon
I need to find a whisky fire breath of a man
Who can pay for the motel room by the hour?
Because I've gotta get loaded, and I've finished
I've finished, I've finished with finishing-school
I'm old enough to make my own, make mistakes
I'm old enough to be my own, fool
But father I still need your arms and pet-talks
And mother I still need your worried grace
Shouting the night air is cold and bleak
High and vocal alarms in a shrill
That sends a shiver, a chill down my spine
Because one day soon I just might change my mind.