Le Vacance Pretentieuse: Darts

Drops of sweat slip from my furrowed brow Eyes squint, select a number and let fly now Miss again, a millimetre is a mile once more Aimed for triple twenty, only got double four The walk of shame, my oh so familiar friend Silence broken, on alcohol I forever depend The steel point of eyes bore into my neck My opponent leaves me a juddering wreck I lose the match; the wife won’t give me a kiss I wish I could have been anything else than this...