Workchat and blib blab, getting through the beers.
Life´s a wreck, not to feel loved, hung up that way for years.
Chitter chatter, how great life could be.
Lips splatter stuttering "we don´t buy advice, we get it all for free."
Passing into the banal realm, heresay is the emperor.
Getting stuck up to our knees in conjecture.
The alcohol runs low as our spirits get higher.
Rambling ranting, as if, to the tone pitch of the village crier!
It all got too much as the last cigarrete was smoked.
A messy end toward the midlife, the spirit vital yet broken.
A spiral downward shelved with genuine prayers for hope.
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