Friday Night Fights

Go on drinking, without thinking, about the bout you'll soon be in, and begin to fathom the random way, in which the day can blur, into a trance, perchance and lead you, and bleed you, throw you out, give you gout, as you worry about, a thousand chances in the sand , when you could have been, should have been, out like a light, before fall of night, and worry about the fury, your head will feel, make your squeal, crying, dying but then flying, into a place you never have been, drained of all your sin, waiting to begin, again the same way Friday night, without fright, to start another fight.