Somewhere between the throbbing tinnitus,
and tummy ache from liver damage,
my eyes rolled round,
and found focus on bliss.

Remembering the moments of pure distortion,
accompanied by breath,
and disrupted with the anthem,
of a hundred kids unyielding.

“All you have to do now is breathe,
You’ve done it to yourself boy.”
And a smoke coated couch,
has never smelled so great.

I’m staring at heaven,
though my eyes are closed,
and the sun now rises,
over a broken painted wall.

Punk rock paradise,
moaning out of tempo,
everyone’s waiting to get lit,
if only you’ve got a spark.

After a thorough thrashing,
we cram into the whip,
and my head finds solace,
pushed up against your seat.

The bands roll in,
everyone drops out,
to a B-flick joke,
room filled with smoke.