The Drunken Man Show
A need-fed man with a blood-red glow,
Confusion writ high on a tension-knit brow,
Due to peer-pressure or sheer pleasure, somehow brought low,
To quench his thirsty stench, he'll beg, steal or borrow,
Laden with cares, he stares, as if there's no tomorrow,
In this foolish stance and dance, his debts only grow,
In squabbling and babbling, his words overflow,
In his illusions and delusions, nothing does he know,
Not knowing where to go, he reels to and fro,
Irking everyone by shirking his duty, saying no,
He's spurned and turned into his own foe,
Though he tries to learn and may yearn that it be not so,
Staggering in streets, he's triggering his death slow:
This is the gory story of the drunken man show.
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