a birthday song for a friend
There is a bad lung
A squished balloon
That doesn't do its job well or at all
Someone's looking sour
All doom and gloom
You don't lie a life if you never play ball
There's a cheeky glass of wine to toast
Boasting, abortive literary pigeons
There's a fake line you can see from the coast
Mostly to lure you from your humble beginnings
Out of the kindly things you do
Comes out a petrol stench swan
A nicer you
There’s a bad lung
A deflated football
That doesn’t help you breathe at all
There’s an apparatus
To help you through
To prop you up for your curtain call
Like a paralytic child
You will have your hand
Waved for you
A finger prodding
At your backbone
To push you off yet to help you through
Everyone loves a good story and
Everyone has an opinion
And who doesn't know how it's gonna go
The trajectory is familiar
Out of the kindly things you do
Comes out a petrol stench swan
A nicer you