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....
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