The Bone Church by Stephen King
If you want to hear, buy me another drink.
(Ah, this is slop—slop, I tell you—but never mind; what isn’t?)
There were thirty-two of us went into that greensore
and only three who rose above it.
We were thirty days in the green, and only one of us came out.
Three rose above the green, three made it to the top:
Manning and Revois and me. And what does that book say?
The famous one? “Only I am left to tell you.”
I’ll die in bed, as most obsessed whoresons do.
And do I mourn Manning? Balls! It was his money
put us there, his will that drove us on, death by death.
But did he die in bed? Not that one! I saw to it!
Now he worships in that bone church forever. Life is grand!
(What slop is this? Still—buy me another, do. Buy me two!
“Put another nickel in…the nickelodeon——”
In other words I’ll talk for whiskey; if you want me
to shut up, switch me to champagne.
Talk is cheap, silence is dear, my dear.
What was I saying?)
