I hear in this tavern,
upper middle classes,
talk of their families
and boys and their girls

I drink my whisky
and not a ******* Scotch
and fill my belly with crispies
not worry about my lesser notch
on their belts they call Mr Jones
and all their rights and never wrongs

I don't care of their bragging,
as I know the truth is a color red.
Disease and all disabilities
will lead to their lies leaving.

A child under a breathing machine,
not that I think its justice in gold,
I hate to see a  single child suffer,
But this is all I have ever known.

I don't gloat and belly laugh,
as I know they'll all go through
this from the first tongue of waif
a mirror is always me seen through.

This world is killing me.
I suffer in reverse of belief
I'm not any good at sinking
that 8 ball that towers.......