Intoxication strikes a chord,
And you go sleeping in the nude.
Instead of changing all that's wrong,
You claim it's rather rude.
You've taken vows,
No change of hearts,
permitted under loathe.
And to occasions
You will rise,
Within your kitchen stove.
There is a life,
Much worse than yours,
A greatly deeper grave.
But you're unsure
That lack of ease
succeeds the lack of crave.