Dripping in age-old whiskey, enough of the goddamn dregs
Time to set fire to an entirely different kind of desire
In my belly, namely
Flaked out, watching Graham Norton on the clapped out telly
Bandon’s finest – wining and dining all of his own accord with Morgan Freeman and the likes
Up all night so as to make an equal kind of impression
Some day soon, perhaps
I ain’t no comedian but seems, so far, I sure as hell can write
Or so they do say
A way with words even if, right now, there’s a lemon, too many cloves altogether to ever get to count right between my lips
Strip me to the very core of my soon-to-be drunken being, wean me away oh so bravely
Time to fall apart, then get to start all over again come the shape-shifting a.m.
Bring it!

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