Spatterings of the stuff, enough to send any sane man into absolute cuckoo-land
Ten times over, caught between a childhood dream and an oh so distant wish
Really, he did not need any of this
Thirst to the real point of progress, at least up inside of his crumpled mind if only for a while
A famine and never a feast
Blind albeit telling punches to the face, time again
A down ‘n’ out disgrace with no real place ‘cept this to ever call home
Although upon his next swig – cut and cauterised – there will forever remain a complete necessity to blame the parents
Those the ones who never truly cared
With their age-old, not forgetting typically deceitful bringings
Oh yes, and he will also sing for his each and every supper
Seems right now he must