If angels could disco
and demons would cry
I'd lay down my bottle
without asking why,
but fortune is fickle
as Damacles' sword
and humble menservants
will never be Lord.
When pigs are all Jewish
and Hindu's eat steak
then none of my nightmares
will keep me awake
but the oceans are angry,
the sun sleeps in the west,
children still skin knees,
Moms hope they know best.
The fattest of freemen
are prisoners of fate;
so pour me a whiskey
before it's too late.
