Black Day All Tied Up...

Black Day All Tied Up…

I hate this fucking black tie,
men fidgeting while women cry.
Here we are, we meet again,
does it have to fucking rain.

All acting suitably subdued,
what else is there now but drink.
Morbid tales of others viewed,
gives everyone time to think.

A shiny wooden box for a final closure,
sure as hell nicer than cremation’s fire.
Undertaker hands on the burial brochure,
such an ending, he hopes we all require.

But as sadness grazes
on personal mortality,
I think of what amazes,
giving all instinctive vitality.

To see the young continue,
from an ancient’s common seat.
For them I must, no, will renew
my battle that corruption of
their lives I shall fucking defeat.