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.
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