In my ideal world,
There's no you, no them,
You see it's my world,
A construct of my imagination.

A glass of scotch, a piece of swing
Blaring for all to hear,
Eyes shut, as I'm lounging,
My legs rest on the arm, without a care,
Small gentle sips,
A warm burn, and sensation,
Slowly drifting,
Away,
           Away,
                       Away,
Away into my own mentality,
Imagining my little place of peace,
A slight bite of heaven,
A taste of something, something just for me.
Here, I'm never down-trodden,
But cheerful and amazingly,
Happy.

In the world of a simple scotch
And the sound of a piece of swing,
Oh that this world would be,
Something of a reality.

Not too much, not too little,
But just right,
That'd bring me such delight,
If only it lasted a little.