Tumbling bumbling rolling along a bottle of beer and a song. Stager to the take away order a kebab if you may. Salad and mayo and lots of meat all placed in pitta all proper and neat.
Roll down the road down the street the frog and toad. In at your gate with an excuse why you are late but not able to remember the date. A night out with the boys and your best mate.
Your key is in the door you burst in and fall on the floor that’s where you lay asleep untill the very next day.
When you awake your head is full of hammers and you wonder weather you used your manners. Shower and coffee and bacon too, then to the white telephone head down the loo.
Off to bed with the hammers still in your head wishing you hadn’t done it and that you were dead. Close your eyes go to sleep snoring loudly you could sleep for a week.
Rhythm of the Ink 