Can you stop putting fags out in the quiche, please?
We all chipped in for the spread.
Don’t cling to the buffet table on your knees, please.
You’re not the only one sad it’s dead.
You’ve got ash on the volavonts and the prawn rings.
the people come these things.
You’re going nowhere fast, you’re going
going fix it at bar.
can’t up with a soda for single
nobody a drunk at
it TV, they on
killed it the
selling mugs and yo-yos.
They killed still trying get it.
It’s going to take more a secret cigarette
the end a pack polos.
buried it all of the
And with everything it
forgotten ages,
They it with a tonnes
their bar.
they their knees.
They and until they call a
They gather before the freeze.
they struggle to remember the
of dancing a glimpse.
They left
But it’s things different