Listen up barflies, tricksters and drunks,
People’s lives wasted with heads down the dunk;
What if there really is a land for you and me,
Where the bar is eternal, refills are free.
You may have heard the jokes
Escaping creased lips,
Cheeks scattered with scars
Lives rallied around bars.
But I implore you;
What if the beer runs in a river
And contains something sweet to help along your liver
Bags of peanuts grow on trees
No alley-way dogs crawling with fleas,
No aging ******, the price a humiliating tease.
We of the wasted, the broken; the done
Heaven doesn’t really sound like much fun.
Tennis greens and elegant scenes
Don’t meet our tastes
For ***** ashtrays
Engine oil and grease;
Gangs of bikers and hordes of police.
When I find that sign creaking in the wind
I’ll indulge in one final binge;
With an ex-wife in Hawaii
A boy out in Leicester (or New Mexico)
A veteran-frazzled brother
And a daughter who doesn’t want to know;
A bank sends love letters requesting my stuff.
The bible urges me clean
I look up to heaven
Doesn’t sound like my scene.
So hear me you wasted, you hardened,
Capillaries burst staining noses red;
Let’s comply to the census
And drink ‘til we’re dead,
Because the eternal bar, the river of beer,
Is all in your drunken head.
For everyone at the Kings Head; the old boys, the hopeless young lads, the stammering drunks and quiet day-enders. Thanks for your tips, you were a pleasure to serve.