Trysts of beached
          and branchless relationships
               have led my mind to call the    
tides insecurity for truth,
        but this old jug of liquid fire is melting glass
                  so I think my craw needs a-wait f’r a-asking for.
       When I get the slur off my tong,
          the day will be done
And what happens tonight’s gonna kick my *** ‘til Tuesday.
                                              Goodbye worries;
                             I hope to see you in hell on Wednesday.    

                                  Let me sleep,
                                     or my dreams
                                         will explode  
                                             into reality.
                                                  Please.