Drunken thoughts in ‘Slachthuis’

Misfits and outsiders,

a cacophony of souls

come here to meet

that is quite a treat.

 

a slow fading dream?

no topping on the cream?

a sad wretched scream?

 

Mad laughter, imbibed poison,

puking an anachronistic tune,

shouting sometimes gets your way,

a simple word can hold the sway,

stop to think, grab another drink

and hold the mike for all your might.

 

Blue lights catch my eye,

an alien is here to die.

Is the dream still alive

here in this abattoir dive?

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