Yes Baby, I been drinkin’
And I shouldn’t come by, I know
But I found myself in trouble
And I had no place else to go
Got some whiskey from the barman
Got some cocaine from a friend
I just had to keep on movin’
‘Til I was back in your arms again
I’m guilty
Baby, I’m guilty
And I’ll be guilty for the rest of my life
How come I never do
What I’m supposed to do
How come nothing that I try to do
Ever turns out right
You know–You know how it is with me, Baby
You know I just can’t stand myself
It takes a whole lotta medicine
For me to pretend that I’m somebody else
Those are the lyrics from Randy Newman’s “Guilty”. The Bonnie Raitt version from the early 1970s album is the one I like best.
The words rang painfully true when I was younger. And they still hit the mark today, though thankfully without the medicine.
I suppose my entire life’s quest has been to be at peace with myself and all around me.
And I’m still looking for it, sometimes getting nearer, only to sense it slipping away, giggling, drawing me onward.