Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays,
At night, always at night,
That precious, neon light,
I try and try, fail always.
In I go, out I’m not, rush,
It’s not a drug, it’s another kind,
It may be fate, may be my mind,
Out no more, I now just hush.
I’d love to say I’m sober,
It might not be the right word,
Or it might be, well it might not,
I’m here now, please don’t bother.
In trying, oh! In trying,
Great moments I’ve wasted,
If I could just not regret it,
Peace I might be finding.
So bring out the show,
Flesh and sweat and lights and magic,
No remorse nor guilt nor logic,
There’s no point in feeling low.
Poema de 20 líneas (¿?) para clase Style en VFS