Scratching through the pictures
Of a life he left for dead
Venomous the rhetoric
That runs around his head
Doomed to live in circles
Oh, his aching spine
Bitter Glynn Capacity
Limps the line

Complexion of a heart attack
The waistline of a barge
The bottle always empty
And the portion extra large
Panting on the staircase
Leaning on the rail
Wheezing Glynn Capacity
Looks quite pale

Rattling the cutlery
Quivering the hands
Addled by his impotence
No one understands
Deathly are the beads of sweat
Converging on his brow
Broken Glynn Capacity
Not long now