Puff, puff, puff
‘Til leaving himself blue in the face
Seems the cold Irish breeze never, ever helped too much either
A touch of the fishmonger about him
Always at one corner, trading too many conversational blows altogether for his every worth
Smelt just as much
So out of touch albeit reaping certain benefits
Customers pouring on in – not for fish but more so all about the drugs
Tugged on into this life
Thirst like nothing we’ve ever seen before
Abhor the customer… Never. Ever. Let. Be. Known. The. Seller.
For he came upon all of this by rather delicate off-chance
Your family is mafia and you get to eventually see it as an absolute normality
Swarms of naysayers, of course – begrudgers so typically outta touch with utter reality
Natural for him, an underlying curiosity to slaughter this particular cat
Money being swapped over one rent at a time, he capturing his particular cream
Sublime and impressive occurrings indeed, ’til one such abuser loses complete touch with their very own reality
Feeling supernatural, they jump right from the very building above his head
Karma and crazed surroundings all rolled rather unbefittingly into one
My friend, she lost her son quite literally atop mine

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