Perhaps there is a place in life
For getting so drunk you cannot see
And waking up with sour breath,
Head wobbly as a stormy sea.
Perhaps theres joy to find in kegs
Of rum, of wine, and of whiskey
Though who can tell, if you cant tell
Just what you did from memory?
Id rather know when Im having fun,
And who I keep for company
So keep your booze and all its ills
Its tea or lemonade for me.



Penned by my hand on the 18th of Sarapin, in the year 957 AF.