Last year, we'd all been robbed
Of our age and
We know there's no excuse in the book
For consistent punishing hangovers.
No excuse for ice cream breakfast
Or not having a wife.
But we're out there
In replay.
Is this limbo?
Bad dogs
Sniffing trails in a toilet stalls
Denial on billboards too grand to laugh at.
Lost in half rêve
Flem caught in our throat
We go to town
On women
Hunted by others
And sniff the air.
Is this limbo?
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