A man steps through the door dark pants and a black shirt, eyes red from excess tears, leaving snail tracks down his cheeks. A pint of guinness and a shot of bushmills. He lifts the pint to his lips slowly pouring the black liquid down his throat. He sets the half empty glass to the wooden bartop and picks up the shot. He throws back his head and dumps the contents into his mouth and swallows in two gulps. He slams the the glass to the counter and raises the guinness to his bearded lips once more and begins to speak:

empty chair

A voice gone quiet an empty chair
Sunlight filters through the curtains
Tears slowly drips down the cheeks
As eyes stare at the empty chair...

A silvery form shines in the sunlight
Sitting in the vacant cushions
Forever watching over those
She had to leave behind

Hands clasp with the shimmering shade
As paths entwine once more
Feet dancing in the roads
As hearts beat together in remembrance

He turns back to the barman and orders himself another.