Two roads submerged in yellow ale
And wobbly I traversed both, (tried to)
And I was weeble wobble until I fell down
looked three eyes bleary
to where I fell into undergrowth;

Then took another ****,
and having perhaps a sprained colon
because was a ditch and I was drunk.

Though as I passed out there
And had really fallen the same (as yesterday)
And woke the next morning, my face covered
in green leaves and ale.

Oh, kept pace with yesterday. I get used to routine.
I tell this with a sigh
somewhere ditches since (where?)

A drunk diverged in a wood
And I were him
again.
That makes no difference.