Wished I was a Libertine,
Never an hour not sober,

Wished I was as cool as the anti pop-culture machine,
Never fall prey to a hangover,

Wished I was able to afford the designer jeans,
Never let societal pressures takeover,

Wished I was the archetype of the scene,
Never be a poser.

Wished I was someone to be seen,
Never settle for a pushover.

There’s a lonesome lass chilling at the bus stop,
Extracting the last few pulls from her hand rolled lollipop,
Now regretting those unnecessary bathroom pit stops,
Didn’t make a move but that’s not entirely her fault.

Shame her night had to come to such an abrupt end,
Regretting the money she allows her nose to continually spend,
Waiting in the rain for the ***** scented people wagon,
The night bus doth appear as rouge as Cadwaladr’s dragon.

You see the young bucks come up from the countryside,
Drinking on the train and hoping for a good time,
In a group of four but there ain’t no foresight,
They’ve all been blinded by the illuminated city lights,
Hoping to wake up next to someone random,
Add another member to their ****** fandom,
They’ll inevitably be on the first train home,
One may get too drunk, get lost and travel alone,
Gain more numbers than they all can remember,
Spend the hungover morning after pondering what to send her,
Fast forward! It’s now the subsequent weekend,
Oh look! The young bucks are at it again.

In the 70’s they were highly important,
Now they’re old at the back of the rack we store them,

Still useful but not fit for purpose,
Left to feel nothing more than worthless,

Cannot associate with the modern day style,
Haven’t garnered respect from the youth in a while,

Today they hide in the sanctity of a home,
Dark, cold and and very much alone