Many a man have lived their lives
in contemptuous scorn,
Mesmerized by the sparkling charming haze of this *****.

Day by day ,
They babysit the sweet nectar of this tipple,
Even though it made them waddle.

Like a ****** vying for peace,
They drown their sorrows in cannon shots ,
Until their spirits become open .

And they danced,
Until their souls cease feeling the burden,
For in that moment, they are willing prisoners of the bottle.

'Tis only a dilly-dally
And shilly-shally ,
For in this tipple dwells no peace at all,

But 'tis a tomb of a battalion woes ,
A soul shuddering vacuum ,
A darkness revolving  in shots activity.

Unseen in tormenting passions ,
'Tis like knowingly switching a self destructive button ,
And hoping it kills the enemy.