We are going to town
With confettis in our eyes
And venture a glorysome fervent party
We wreak havoc on
Soft ground and beguile
Butterflies and bees
And we drink nectar
In garderns straight out from flowers
The gardeners will be mad
But who are they to stop us?
They can't take the happy
We coddled in our bellies
Along with our whiskey
And denial.
Along with our dreams
Digesting, fermenting
In boiling loathing
Sometimes we drown ourselves with the decadence of life just to forget our misfortunes and feelings of utter desolation.
