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Book 5 Page 7
Cigaretteís and whisky are my only friends,
but once I remember when it was wild wild women.
But thirty year on the grog and Iím no longer the one they choose.
Thirty years on the booze.
And Iím wondering now, whatís become of me.
Iíve lost my way and become slovenly?
For since my wife left things havenít been the same,
Thirty years in the drinking game.
Thirty years have gone by so fast
and thereís no one left in my life from the past,
to meet me, / to greet me, / to show me a fair go,
when your a drunk that nobody wants to know.
Thirty year of life and Iím only forty four
and it seem that all life for me has a 'closed door,'
cause no body wants to know you when you drink like me to excess.
No body wants to know you when you look like me; a mess.
Thirty year on the booze,
thirty year to loose and loose and loose.
Thirty years, look at me! Iím a crying shame,
thirty year, in the drinking game.
© Written by Dominic John Gill www.poetry.net.au 26/6/99 email@example.com