Whiskey and Waffles

Running away from grief has always been my thing
geographic cure, best way to avoid the sting
there were always excuses not to be by your side
I was on a plane searching for silence when you died

Touched down in the middle of a standstill storm
up the road was the music I needed to keep me warm
but tragedy never stops, it just spreads around
there’s no relief from grief in this whole damn town

and the band, they played the necessary sound
and we cried as we passed that flask around
and as the crew broke down, we stood stranded in the dark

We met in the light a little while later
over waffles and sweet tea and mashed potatoes
and as we broke down, we shared that bottle of Maker’s Mark

so rarely do we know what we mean to one another
when strangers are friends and friends become your brothers
you never know the way it’ll hit you inside
sometimes there’s no catharsis when the people you love are the people who died

and the band they played the necessary sound
we wept as we passed that flask around
when the crew broke down, we stood restless in the dark

the light was blinding just an hour later
we never finished our waffles or our mashed potatoes
we just mourned and swapped that bottle of Maker’s Mark

I’d never go so far as to say my grief was unique
but tragedy shouldn’t hit twice in one damn week
the memory of a laugh shouldn’t hold this much sorrow
or that handshake when he said he’d see me tomorrow

I want to be able to deal with this the proper way
instead of framing it in rhymes or running away
if this isn’t the solution, then maybe it’s a start
lose myself in the noise and blow this pain apart

I hope the band plays the necessary sound
and that we pass another flask around
and that we hold it together, together in the dark

whiskey before waffles, deep in the night
I hope that we all find the light
and that we never finish this bottle of Maker’s Mark