I'm drunk, I'm drunk, I'm a silly owd sod,
Stumbling through the still shiver of the early night;
Each step a clumsy sonnet written on cracked pavement,
Every stumble a verse that mocks my fleeting might.
The fog of memories curls around neon glows,
Where lamplight winks in rhythm with my muddled heart.
Here, life is a scattered bottle of bittersweet prose,
And each shattered shard reminds me of its fragile art.
I laugh at the irony in this unsteady parade,
An ode to lost directions and moonlit confession.
In the echo of my antics, the city's secrets are conveyed,
While the pavement hums along in a raucous procession.
For in every spilled pint and every whispered rue,
Lies the raw, untamed truth of being splendidly flawed.
Though my path is crooked and the night askew,
I dance with destiny: a drunken, beautiful fraud.
And so I wander, a silly owd sod beneath the sky,
Grateful for the chaos, the laughter, the imperfect song.
In every stumble, there’s a glimmer that refuses to die,
A promise that in brokenness, we all somehow belong.
Am I drunk? Am I owd? Am I silly? I'll leave these with you