ramblings and things

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In that world ruled by bottles
It was  a helter skelter of a ride
The hours from sleep to sleep
A river far too deep and wide.

There's a certain type of feeling
With the first half bottle sunk,
Warmth, happiness bonhomie,
Not sober yet not yet drunk,
When the world is your oyster
And everybody is a friend
In a backslapping  camaraderie
Right to that bottle's end.

A second bottles brings sagacity
And discussion of serious things
Maybe talk of revolution and
Other seditious mutterings.
And that bottle isn't so happy,
Maybe a bottle of despair,
And you really only finish it
Just because its still there.

The third bottle is a habit
There to finish off the night,
Wiping out the memories if
You judge it's finish right,
Leaving the ability to walk.
With a  wildly spinning head
Down the windy wooded lane
To the lonely unchanged  bed.

The après bottle headache as the
Need to urinate drags you awake
To stagger to the bathroom
Just for the bladder's sake
And the pain of the hangover
Will help you through until when,
With another first bottle before you,
Oblivion can start to descend again.

The next act is ready,
The opening curtain parts
In this world of the bottle time was
Measured between finishes and starts.


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