Weary soul, hear tell what is to be said.
Our juvenescence haunts us, taking the form of many things...
A smoke, a ****, a pop, a drop.
An excuse not to stop.

In the mean of failure,
The obsidian night remains,
And only darkens by the tick tick.
Sometimes, the answer to life sounds like a click click.

But the waves move once again.
Not in favor of those who turn a deaf ear.
They influence our preference,
In regard to our deference.

Sobriety seems overrated,
Words often said,
By those who **** their own mind.
How can we be so blind?

**** the influence,
The generation of foes who neglect the implication.
As for you my kin,
Don't think twice, as to avoid a grin.