Drunken ducks are quackity
They lack simplicity
Violins play like throbbing hearts
Walls spin all over and around me
And I see dizzying colours
But these drunken ducks are flying too high
And they quack like they’ve never quacked before.
Mr. Bubbles is having an affair
And Mrs. Jones is being naughty
But the drunken ducks don’t judge
Chocolates and whiskey don’t tell lies
Beds make them roll around like whores
Fuck, oh fuck
Pink, hot pants, and no underwear
Sleep eludes them, but intoxication is strong
There are no obligations.
Cramps are turning up
Oh the physical, burns
Maybe the whiskey should be drunk after all.
Inspiration for today: Allene George: