His name was not written in the heavens or the stars
But scratched out in the beer stains of a hundred bars or more
And in the sawdust on the floor
Where he often woke.

I spoke to Marlon once,or twice
Over a pint or two
The only way how Marlon knew
To converse.

I did not think him bad or worse than any other drunkard
I had come across
And Marlon,himself was at a loss to explain away
The drink that sunk him every day.

The beer that flowed instead of blood within his veins
Appeared to play games with his head.
Marlon blamed it all instead
On politics and the tricks they used to abuse this man
Whose only plan
Was to drink.

His friends were few and of those that knew him well
Knew he was heading straight to hell.
The day he fell
The day that it all came to an end
He was holding court with others of that sort down on the quay
With a free beer in his hand..too close to the open fire and
Whoosh..with a mighty roar
The fire caught hold and Marlon swore
But took time to take another drink,waste not want no more.
The fire engines tore up to the docks
Found a pair of striped singed socks and one burnt boot.

Poor Marlon turned to soot and ash
Rather rash to sit so near an open fire
While full of beer.

The cortege stretched for miles
And every man jack had a pack of crisps, a pint of beer
And drank a toast to Marlon Gere.
Farewell dear Marlon you were a hoot
Now you're just a bag of soot.
Goodbye dear friend
We'll send you the bill
But first of course
We'll drink our fill.