Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis by Tom Waits, for me.

Waits is always the poet laureate of the broken, lonely, dishevelled and desperate, but there's something about this particular song, the tragic reality of her life, the far more tragic fantasy she spins herself and Charlie.

I can't help but well up every time I hear it. If it comes on the car stereo from my phone playlist I have to skip it in the interests of highway safety.

I wish I had all the money we used to spend on dope

I'd buy me a used car lot and I wouldn't sell any of em

I'd just drive a different car every day dependin on how I feel

Not the saddest lines in the song at all, but some of the most exquisite ever written, for my money.

Thanks for the prompt, Mike.