croaking
Two nights in a row at the bar and my voice is completely shot, with my words seeming to scrape and claw their way up out of my epiglottis only to utterly fail to make an impression on anyone or anything as it makes its pathetic impression on the air around it.
I need to slow down a bit, this lifestyle is leaving me nothing but broke and broken.
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Every day is Saturday night
But I can't wait for Sunday morning
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