Drunk and dirty
gettin bloated loaded
in some crazy corner
where the old bartender
is a droolin savage
and the stink of whiskey
crawls up from the carpet
and I'm sinkin deeper
in perverse dementia
have another drink
and try to free my gizzard
from the bland straitjacket
of obtuse existence
need another bottle
and the damned bartender
wants another dollar
he's a fuckin vampire
and I hate his asshole
cause I'm hard times stricken
got no hard earned money
gettin no god damn pogey
but I wave my arms
a beggin Hey there mister
can ya spare a quarter
for this faded veteran
and I'm saved from drowning 
in my grovelling frenzy
slam those heathen sheckles
on the dead stained counter
grab another slurp
of that divine elixir
and commence to chantin
my confused opinion
on the state of chaos
and the holy logic
when a thick red lady
with a thin black moustache
comes and stares at me
out of her one red eyeball
and I lose control
of my depraved emotion
strike out heavin and weavin
where the air was spinnin
round my drippin chin
and as I spiral down
into a hairy error
in the clouded midnight
of eternal pickle
I scream sweep me, Jesus
from the floor of Limbo
and I see the daylight
through the hazed depression
as I spill my sorrow
on the lonely carpet
and I stagger out
from the embrace of strangeness
to collide headfirst
with a December morning.

                                            (Mike O'Brien)