Towards the Mixer, full steam ahead, rushing 'til the bitter end.

Alive with my dreams, but the dying is what I dread.

Pour out a help-yell before this daylight turns to hell.

Acting like a punk, I smoke in the rank.

The drunk me acts rich, while ignoring the edge of the ditch.

I popped in for a beer to hear the calls of 'come here'.

Cleaning my Martens' shoes there are no more steps left to lose.

Drunkenness is no crime and at the police I still can smile.

If life gives me these nights, then I must enjoy every bite.