I saw in my kaleidoscope last night,
a sight so rare to find,
even more so rare to find, the same sin
corrupting your heart and mind
as the one that corrupted him,
turned him into a dog, a pig
wallowing in his whisky misery
and whining, wine at hand,
clutching his beer belly.
I cry awake, remembered the bed.
Then went back to sleep. I'd rather
face the nightmares of my dreams
than the dungeons of reality.
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