8 May 2012
Squat against a concrete step,
In a pool of sick.
Tin cans littered at his feet,
Cider took him quick.
The sky it tore and light escaped,
A burst of golden blue,
Falling on the ring pulls,
Shiny, bright and new.
Temperance now dead and gone,
The culture long instilled,
Desperate to destroy ourselves,
Stereotypes fulfilled.
The Same Old Story • Opuss № I