This is a scribbling from quite some time ago, but I suppose my post at the start of the week on the affront of being asked to leave a bar brought it back to mind.
When your pockets are empty
And your credit is shot;
When the room starts to spin,
Faces floating around you;
When you can't rise from your stool,
Can barely hold up your head;
When you open your mouth to speak
But each sentence sounds like one long word;
When you're the last person in the bar,
And the dawn's not far away;
When they just won't serve you any more –
That's when you think that you've only just started;
Though, in truth, you've probably had
A bit too much already.
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