THE SOBER CHOIR
I was going to sink the fleet
Until you brought me to my knees.
Oh, honey, please let me sleep
Let me sleep let me sleep on it.
We three vied for your affection in light of every other guy.
Now I'm only the victor who didn't move abroad or die.
Across your flesh of guilt
& wills
Just a fever for a sick week.
Off your cutting block to the
gallows
For the laughing stock.
He's an actor out in Belfast, down on George Street.
Well, according to the script.
Honey surprise me, surprise me, SURPRISE
ME!
Sunday come lift me up &
I’m alone
Well according to the script.
Still capture of a car ride honey.
Baby, that's alright.
All conversational dialogue portrayed in voiceover.
He's a fakist, chatting fences in his boardroom.
Annotated by the drips.
To sink beneath the sea of drink, of lost maps, in all directions
