I don't want to spin out a rhyme
each time I feel happy,
I want to laugh and drink beer
in a cooling shed,
with the bleak disruptions
of cue ***** and pockets.
I don't want to
search for the future,
I don't want to
pester in squalor,
I want misbehaviour
and my head in a bucket.
To rise again,
with the faint smell of liquor,
inhaling the youth
that never came to deliver,
bring me back to the hope of a soul's holiday,
to the hope this struggle will allude
to days without discord,
that play to my tune.