Last Orders!
A Bell Tolls, Time!
The weary take their damp scribbled lists,
Wading through a human surf
To The Front,
Smoke coiling round their ankles,
Each and every torturous step,
A gaseous bolero seeking to trip,
As the noise in confluence folds,
Flowing round every corner,
Rebounding,
Echoing into a roar.
'You know the score!',
The leader implores,
'Just one more before we go.'
Get them,
In.
Get them,
Down!
Then, we staggered out the door
Deafened
By the silence now closing within
Above what was once a bustling,
Ear shattering din.
In a rag tagged formation
We marched our separate ways.
No more Orders,
That's for sure.
Well,
Trying to desist,
A sobriety thirst,
Compelled a need to re-enlist.
So we answered the call,
And marched in orderly rank,
Back,
Through that welcoming door,
Uniting,
Friends, once more.