In old beer taverns, the light is buried;
Under a myriad plagued distractions.
Although it’s seen as escape from worry,
All the faux joy is undermined by woe.
Although the bright lights must never go out
And the music must always play, still we
Are bored out of our wits, as we cling on in
Frustration to the trite, mundane hours.
We’re consumed by gossip & News items:
That dull the heart and freeze the sovereign soul.
Wishing I Were Somewhere Else!
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