Hola Amigo

Tequila shots Broken Spanish Cenotes Drink, drink, my friends Fools, all of us A holiday A holiday Windy days And moon lit nights They come and go Like ants to the mound Only there is no purpose But to exploit And kid yourself that you are relaxing It all waits It’s always there Standing on the corner Like a whore Waiting for a John After the drinks What’s really left? Nothing.