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Inebriate
Insanity constantly enslaves and mocks
No break, no pause, the appetite always knocks
Enough, never registers, his life, it sucks
Beer and gin, in his long gut line up and flock
Rich pockets, poor soul, behind the prison’s lock
Inversely proportional life, on the pluck
Always emptying bottles all round the clock
Time is in motion but his, suffers a block
End of this story is bottom of the rock
Copyright ©
Funom Makama
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