Sunday
In fog as thick as Sunday morning ever got
There softly stepped a careful waking fool
The pumping blood that hammered in his head
Gave rhythm to the pain that clutched his eyes
He reached a shaking hand to grasp his cup
As whispers of his conscience teased his hackled neck
At times like these the souls of other men
From ill remembered mists arise
And laugh with joy to meet another foolish wreck
In sweat bled fear of where he’s been and why
And as the morning clears from fog to red
He sees why others balk and fear to tread
Upon the paths where other fools have led
And for the umpteenth time begins to swear
To never ever stretch his aching head
Beyond the limits of its solid boney wear
But now there’s one more reason to rejoice
With Happy Birthday greetings from the boys
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