My head has been throbbing to a sickening rhythm all night;
The tired streetlights cast pale, melancholy floods onto the filth below;
As an indifferent car roars past me, marking me with the steet's brew;
I seek refuge in the bar, with its half-lit neon sign flickering to the same nauseating beat,
And I slump into a sticky, little chair like a crumpled scrap of waste;
The oppressive stench of cigarette smoke trespasses on my lungs,
Causing me to sputter and hack with an affictively violence;
After downing enough of my vile poison, I struggle to get up, my head now burning,
And stagger down the narrow, hazy lanes till I reach my little, damp box;
There I throw myself onto my unkempt bed and fall painfully asleep,
Only to wake in the morning to the golden rays of the sun streaming through my bars.