The self-indulgence of pity parties thrown in Mad Dogs with little to no bite
Sorrow dug out of sands with a pitchfork in the calmness of my Long Islands
Was the Captain Morgan of thinning blood vessels sailing bourbon streets
Before this tale goes any further I'll go a-head and coin the plot of the current seen (currency)
Table of contents, several digits waiting to be dialed up, and a ploy off the hook to hang your hat on
Bred anger with pain until I broke the mold and couldn't stomach sponging Agent Orange with fear and loafing (loathing)
The innocence of a hungry spirit and thirsty mind only to be put behind bars like tenders in a sense
Boatloads of feelings harbored on BomBays as I began to sea myself as a Patron in Kraken like legend
As a foul sport I was use to taking two shots to be technical or passing out like there's no clear cut lane to the goal
One day I found a message in a bottle it read, remove those glasses and adjust your hazy views
A toast to sobriety