It’s neither my pleasure, nor my style,
but I’ve been drinking for a while.
We already know it why:
some nights are just too heavy being dry.
I had been suffering and crying
even before alcoholic supplying,
but since I have it
I say: freck it.
I’m not looking for acceptance;
I hate myself even in this stance,
but surely I am passing time,
and I find words for my rhyme.
My dear Lord, Dionysus,
is tottaly not like Jesus;
he lets me do my own sacrifice,
and eases me directly by the price.
How should I thank him more
than just live and drink a bit more?
Life is hard even as a drunkard,
but it’s the life of a pocket bard.