A tired tirade of tyranny

It’s Monday again, what a weekend of pain. Through the wind and the mud and the clouds and the rain, it’s a weekend I don’t want to visit again, a right crap motherfuka! 


I can drink so much booze just to lessen the voice, in my head but you know, I just don’t have the choice. When it all sorts itself I will dance and rejoice, and forget that crap mutherfucka. 


With the portrait this land paints before us with pride, all the dark fetid corners within us they hide. But to look to this vista with you by my side, and no thoughts of this crap motherfucka.


When opinions have left from my head through my lips, I can sense all I know touching my fingertips, but reality bites, and illusion will rip, with this right crap mutherfucka.


So as heavy heart beats its last drum for my smile, I can feel the pain rising like bilious green bile, if I could I would ride for a day and a mile, away from this crap motherfucka.


Now my friend and I sit watching dreams of my past, he disappeared once, now his twins fading fast, a little more time then this must be my last. Now where’s that crap motherfucka?

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