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: